


Pendulum's Break

by Jacynon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacynon/pseuds/Jacynon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was as ready for death as he possibly could have been. Death, it seemed, had not been ready for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I only wrote 3000 words for this?? Kill me????
> 
> No but really I expected to write a lot more for this. anyway here's yet another ongoing fic I am so sorry. I'll be focusing on this one a lot because I'm obsessed with this idea but I SWEAR I'll update my other ones.

Darkness was approaching.

He'd seen it time and again; a fade of consciousness, a loss of function and feeling, barely grasping at focus or linear thought.

Death was not a light.

Instead, it was a black haze. A simultaneous lightheadedness and clarity. On one hand, all of what Arthur had said to - to this _being_ , was true. On the other, it'd all been spoken through the mist of his slowly fading existence. Every word of betrayal, every line of praise, every declaration of ultimate appreciation escaped his lips with a gradual amount of desperation.

It was not that he meant it any less. It simply may not have been said, or said in the same way, under different circumstances. He could not be blamed for that. A man is different in death than he is in life. He is more honest, more open, ready to say what needs to be said before he is forced from the mortal world.

Death was darkness.

Arthur spent his life learning to kill honorably and be killed honorably. He knew not to show his pain, _how_ not to show his pain, not to let it overwhelm him, but _by the Gods_ , did his side hurt. It wasn't like any agony he'd experienced. It was sharp and dull at the same time, both burning and freezing. Like death itself, the wound spread the feeling all throughout his body.

It was more like having a debilitating sickness than the shard of a sword stuck inside of him. All the symptoms told more of a plague than anything else, with how he could barely walk, could barely stomach any type of food, could feel his temperature rising and falling at random. But even then, even then, his mind was far too busy to worry about the type of discomfort he was in.

Life at that moment felt far too quickly fading. He'd experienced every emotion possible, all with a tint of grief and guilt.

Death was -

_"Merlin."_

He didn't know if he'd actually spoken the name, or if he'd imagined it. His lips moved to say it, moved to say many more things, he knew, but it didn't feel right. Almost nothing felt right in that moment. Almost.

In the end, he knew he needed to put all of his energy into expressing what was most important. He could have said a million different things, would have done so if he'd had enough time to, but he knew what Merlin had always needed. He knew that after all that time, after so little credit was given, after he'd risked his life and sanity for Arthur and for their kingdom, his first priority had to be _gratitude_.

Merlin gave so much. He gave and gave and gave, barely ever took, barely ever was allowed selfishness.

 _This is enough_ , he could doubtlessly think.

It could have been enough, to finally grant well-deserved recognition, to express his inordinate admiration while in the embrace of the one he could clearly, blatantly see was most important to him.

Had Merlin stirred a bit of cowslip inside of his last retched meal? Fitting, it would've been. It certainly would have explained why he'd been in such a daze, why his head could be so concentrated on his feelings toward his manservant. Or, well, the man who _claimed_ to be his servant. How he could keep up the charade even then, Arthur couldn't comprehend.

Yet, the sorcerer did not seem as though he'd been acting. He was truly convinced of his destiny, of his fate as Arthur's servant. Not only convinced, but more than content to be within such inescapable Moirai.

As his life vanished, his deep affection for his friend grew.

It felt as though he'd aged far beyond his true years.

_Darkness approaching._

Merlin's tearful begging filled his ears, the hopeless and unintelligible muttering, the shouts of the king's name, they were all steadily engraving themselves into his disappearing mind, like a figurative tombstone. One only significant to him, one only he could see. He'd wanted so badly to reassure his friend, to say with his relaxed expression how it was his time, how it wasn't Merlin's responsibility to keep him alive.

He couldn't, though. He couldn't even speak anymore, breath coming out too slowly to form coherent speech.

As his eyes rolled slowly up, the last of his vision did not catch Merlin's eyes, but instead the slowly brightening sky. That had, perhaps, been his final regret.

* * *

Darkness enveloped him.

From somewhere far away, he was being called to. A light voice spoke to him, telling him to open his eyes, but he couldn't, because he was dead. Dead people aren't supposed to cling desperately to a life they no longer are capable of having. It would have been shameful to grasp in hopeless vain for a moment more, for one last minute with - no, he couldn't think about it.

Could it have been his time to go back already? It felt as though Arthur had been asleep for less than a minute, but perhaps his consciousness disappeared for a time. It did not feel like sleep, but more as if he'd completely vanished, as if he momentarily no longer existed. Perhaps it had been years - _ages_ \- since he'd escaped from his mortal shell, and he had no idea.

He could faintly feel the pull of magic surrounding him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes. Had he finally passed, or had he returned to the world of the living? Either sounded just as likely, and he wondered if they felt the same.

_"Innocent people are dying."_

Merlin.

Such a distant voice, a muffled statement, barely audible, but it brought Arthur somewhat to his senses. Was that _Merlin?_ It had to have been. That meant _Merlin's_ was the first voice he'd heard since his death which, if he were in some form of afterlife, would make a bit of sense. Yet, even that, he hadn't received direct confirmation for.

A scream, then a loud crash. Gwaine. Arthur knew, not just because the knight had such a distinct battlecry.

This had happened before.

_"I know what you want."_

His own voice. Arthur recognized his voice and had an idea of where he was, of _when_ he was.

It all sounded familiar. It felt familiar. He'd heard those exact words in that exact order before. His hearing and feeling were returning to him, pushing him down the road of believing what he was experiencing had to have been reality and not just the afterlife. It felt too much like something he'd already gone through before. He felt too alive to still be dead.

But then, why was he there? _Then?_

Back when they'd closed the Veil?

Back when Lancelot sacrificed his life for them and for the safety and balance of their world?

If this was a product of his mind forcing him through visions of his past, why would it start there, and why focus so intently on the scene? When he'd heard stories of the dead having their lives flash before their gaze, he assumed that it would _literally_ be a flash. But it wasn't like that at all. Actually, it seemed as though it was going just as slowly as life.

_"I'm prepared to pay whatever price is necessary."_

A _crash_ , and why? He knew why. He remembered why. Arthur was thrown to the side like he'd weighed nothing, knocked out by the blow as soon as his head hit the ground, and that memory suddenly felt so much closer. That _had_ to have been...

He couldn't know for sure, but he assumed automatically that it was Merlin. Another instance of being unknowingly protected by the sorcerer, by his manservant, by his best and only true friend. If he could hit himself in the head, he would, but he felt a bit too incorporeal for the ability to do that. He felt like the embodiment of darkness. Like he was being held in place by an unknown force.

Not only that, but he couldn't see anything.

Arthur was, for the time being, blind.

His vision was a shaking abyss, ever flowing and twisting and turning, and he could feel the overwhelming magic escaping the Veil, could sense the sudden alarm in the old woman as his consciousness warped into existence. The intense emotions raged around him - her shock and dismay, the apprehension in the others present - and, if he was correct, Arthur himself had been one of the others.

He felt like he was inside of the Veil. Like he _was_ the Veil.

Could he feel his other self? He tried with his returning strength, yearning for the soul of one similar to his, and felt a force pulling him back.

It had to have been her. She had a tight grip on his spirit, cruel expression turned to one of contempt when Merlin stepped forward.

_"Your time among men is not yet over, Emrys, even if you want it to be."_

Emrys. He'd heard that name before, countless times.

Her crooked voice rung through his ears and he could feel her holding him back, as if she were about to at any moment let him free from her grasp. He was connected to her, for the moment; he could feel her aggitated heartbeat, the divided attention between keeping his reaching spirit at bay and ensuring Merlin of his fate, words Arthur was never before able to hear.

Arthur could feel the heat of Lancelot as the knight stepped toward the screaming rip in reality, the resignation and selfless air around him growing ever stronger. As if the king had truly become one with the entity, he attempted to feel out within the darkness, and sensed a shift within his friend and within the dark sea.

The knight halted before the Veil, not of his own accord.

"Your time," the decrepit woman stretched her fingers forward and Lancelot felt his body betraying his intentions, "Lancelot - bravest and most noble knight of them all. Your fate shifts as the sands do. Another shall take your place."

Without warning, a _thump_ , then another. And even without his sight, Arthur could tell from the sound what'd happened. She must have knocked the other two out, as Lancelot's heat disappeared and Merlin's expected protest was nowhere to be heard. A few moments passed in complete silence as, presumably, the Cailleach weighed her options and analyzed the situation.

Things Arthur couldn't possibly do.

That helplessness he'd felt all through the time he'd been dying came back full-force, hitting him quickly and painfully. That, however, was blanketed by a feeling of release, a sudden and rapid _push_. His entire being was traveling faster than he thought possible, faster than he knew any human was feasibly able to move.

And then, he could feel. _Really_ feel.

The cold gravel stung his cheek and the air hit brutally against the freezing metal of his chain armor. Though his bearings were heavy, they still couldn't shield him from the chill that ran up his spine. He'd never been so _alive_. So very, extremely, definitely not dead. He'd only a few minutes prior been nothing but a soul leaving his body, and he'd suddenly become perfectly fine.

His clothed hands pushed himself up, still somewhat disconnected from his mind.

While his eyes were focused on the darkness of his gloves, thinking, waiting, trying to piece together his circumstances, her footsteps _clicked_ loudly across the stone. He quickly pushed himself up and over, back against the hard ground. Before him, that wrinkled face appeared, falling somewhere between furious and bewildered, though still harboring the same perpetual sadness.

She spoke as the wind shook.

"...You are an older soul," she stated slowly. "Only slightly, but older. Misplaced. Lost. Your eyes are not the same as the ones I'd seen before."

Somehow, she knew that his very existence was amiss. Within her lied a level of understanding.

The Cailleach could feel his disorientation. She knew exactly how adrift his soul had truly become.

"It was not of my own accord," he responded crookedly, as if he hadn't spoken in years.

"This is true," the woman stated. The acerbity in her eyes and pursed lips overtook her previous wistfulness. Her gaze moved quickly to Merlin's unmoving self and back to Arthur. "His soul is not present, so you shall pay the price in his place. Two spirits must not exist within one mortal coil, and as sacrifice, I take this physical form's old soul. Should your spirit make any attempt to return to its own time, your body will be nothing more than an empty shell."

She said it as if it were rehearsed, as if she were mildly annoyed, but the words hit like lightning or a sword straight through his chest. _Return? Shell?_ Arthur slowly began to realize the situation he'd been placed into.

He'd died. He could feel himself shutting down, but even after that, Merlin did _something_. His surroundings were becoming more clear. He could easily see the tear in reality, could feel the magic still pulling at his adjusting spirit and flowing into their world, could see both Lancelot and Merlin lying still on the ground, and knew where and when he was.

This was...yes. Lancelot, one of his bravest knights, had sacrificed himself to close the Veil. This was that moment, the moment he'd been unconscious for.

"That makes no sense, _what_ \- "

Running a hand through his hair, a million questions flooded his mind. If his body were left an empty shell...no, it made no sense at all. He could not exist if he were to lose his soul, nor could he go back to his body in the right time. In the end, he knew it was a rotting corpse. He would have nothing. In his current flesh - no, his _old_ one - he turned himself to lie on his back.

But, then, such a fate couldn't be.

"Your reality would be destined to collapse."

He died. Arthur _died_.

Wind blew softly as he stared into her face. Was this a dream? Was this the afterlife?

Yet, neither of those explanations gave reasoning for why it all felt so clear and real. He felt alive, much more alive than he'd felt in his last hours. Though, in all of his physical exhaustion and extreme confusion, he couldn't draw his sword at the old hag above him, no matter how much he knew he wanted to. He wanted to cut her down, to berate her for speaking of impossibilities as if they were so acceptable.

More than anything else, he wanted to slice her head off for what she'd done to Lancelot, what she'd done now to his previous soul - and, how could that have worked, exactly? He hadn't the time nor energy to argue, to wonder about his lot in life or what this all meant for that.

As he propped himself up with his elbows, he let out a humorous huff and raised his eyebrows. "You won't have to worry about that," he said in a gravely voice, head pounding as he slowly came back to reality. "Haven't got a body to return to, anyway."

Her eyes narrowed, turning to inhuman slits, before she gave a wicked and disgusting grin.

"You must not inform Emrys of your circumstances," her voice boomed in the shadows, cracking like thunder, like she were placing a terrible curse upon him. "Your knowledge of what is to come and his fearsome power may upset the very equilibrium of our reality. Your world would not be the only one placed in peril. Heed my warning, youthful king."

As the Veil closed and grew dim, her form followed.

Her despairing, mournful stare pierced through his very essence.

Arthur let out a deep breath.

Without a word, she was completely gone, and with it was the rift between Albion and the Spirit world. His last residing place, he came to understand. How long had he been in there? He had no way of telling accurately. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, allowing his vision to become accustomed to the sole light of the moon.

In the dead of night, Arthur stood.

He found it difficult to adapt to his body's balance. It was relieving to be in a decidedly _not_ dying body, though he was still working through the consequences and repercussions of such a miracle.

His first priority was obvious.

The only thing he needed to place his attention toward was _how_ he arrived, there, in that time, in that body. He assumed it had everything to do with Merlin - at least, it had to do with magic. Yet, Merlin had been the last person he was with before he'd died. It had to be Merlin. It had to be his fault, why Arthur was alive, why he was so misplaced and why everything was wrong.

_That moron._

_That absolutely selfless moron._

He'd take back that promise of two days off, without a doubt. But, then, _this_ Merlin - the one lying just a few feet away - couldn't have been the one who'd sent him back, or to...wherever he was. It couldn't have been the one from the same place or time as him. That Merlin would have taken the old woman out in a heartbeat. Or, at least, he wouldn't have been pushed into unconsciousness so easily.

Then again, Arthur wasn't entirely sure of what Merlin would have done. He'd been convinced of Merlin's loyalty, not his level of mercy.

His sister's death flashed through his mind for what seemed like the millionth time. He shivered, then blamed that reaction on the cold, despite being alone.

Cutting through the silence was a low groan.

Arthur's attention turned immediately to the shifting body behind him. It seemed that Gwaine would be the first to awaken.

In a way, he was thankful.

* * *

Their return to Camelot was much calmer, less bittersweet, as mourning for a fallen nobleman never came.

Lancelot was _alive_.

"Arthur," a very much _alive_ Lancelot placed a hand upon the current prince's shoulder as they walked alongside their exhausted horses, speaking low as to not catch the attention of the others. "You know nothing of what happened to close the Veil?"

He should have seen it coming, but he didn't.

It was hard to process the knight's question, at first. All Arthur could do was think, think, never stop thinking, because he had so much to consider, so much to reconsider, that anything not immediately on his mind felt so insignificant. He stared blankly for a moment, then replied, "Where was your attention? She used magic on me - forced me to the ground and knocked me right out."

A lie, but he'd expected it to be believable enough. Anyone present who knew them would have thought that woman the reason Arthur had been tossed to the side so unnaturally. Though, she made no movement. Had Merlin made a movement? He couldn't imagine that the case.

Because, well. If Merlin were to have moved at that exact moment, it would have been obvious. Anyone with a brain would have _known_ -

Wait.

Arthur's response gave Lancelot pause. He'd seemed, if only for a second, puzzled, before something akin to realization washed over his face. "Yes," he said in what sounded much more like agreement than remembrance. "Of course."

And the hand was gone.

Throughout the rest of their travel back home, Arthur refused to speak. Even through Merlin's concerned and confused gaze, even through his and Lancelot's quiet conversations, even through the increasing tension between them all, Arthur wouldn't say a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter I love writing this. I'm literally having so much fun writing this. It's making me want to go back to writing my GX fanfic, which was kind of like this, but not until I finish this one.
> 
> Also what is it with me and writing my designated main characters as constantly dissociating.

Once within the walls of Camelot, Arthur was able to find his bearings much more comfortably.

Celebrations were in order, events he had no recollection of, as he remembered clearly a period of mourning for the fallen knight, Lancelot. Yet, the man walked beside him as they returned home. He'd looked out of it, as well as baffled, though Arthur couldn't quite put together why. Had Lancelot planned from the very beginning to sacrifice his life? Had Merlin allowed such a thing to happen?

His knights had gone their separate ways, as did Merlin. As Arthur stepped through the walls of his castle, he was greeted left and right with words of praise, faces not solemn, but instead overjoyed.

Of course they would be, he reminded himself more than once, and felt more out of place in his own home than he had ever before.

The first to properly see him had been Guinevere.

She kissed him immediately, face more relieved than he'd ever seen it, like it had been _her_ who narrowly avoided death. He wished he could be as certain as her, though he remained unsure of what his current circumstances ultimately meant of his fate.

Even so, her figure set fire to his senses, showered him in a bout of alleviation. Her gentle voice abated the tension residing in his muscles, the same exact way it had many times before. His unending love for her warmed his chest, the momentary bliss elating his head. For just a few minutes, he forgot about the Cailleach's mysterious words, about his death, about Merlin.

He lied his head upon her shoulder and breathed in her scent.

Arthur had believed, had _accepted_ , that he would never see his wife again. Or, he corrected with immense regret, it tragically hadn't been on his mind at the time, head staggered with thoughts of his closest friend. He wrapped his arms firmly around her and closed his eyes, feeling the concern within her grow.

Slowly, her arms rose to rest on his back as she spoke to him, "Is everything alright?"

Of course. Such behavior would naturally seem out of place.

"Yes," he nodded, and pulled away. The sheer exhilaration in his expression must have worried her, as her eyebrows only furrowed more. He closed his mouth, ridding his face of his grin, and cleared his throat. "Everything is completely fine. I am simply... _delighted_ that our mission was a resounding success. And very happy to see you, Guinevere."

Before walking away, he pat her shoulder formally and stiffly. Her head lowered, just slightly, eyes lost in thought. Some amount of uneasiness remained, but his truthful confession clearly touched her.

Through the walk home, Arthur did his best to outline exact what he'd needed to do.

Doing his best, however, was not the easiest when he'd been so out of sorts. Seeing Gwen, though a thankful enough wake-up call, strayed him from that path momentarily. He'd sent off as quickly as possible to put his plan into motion. Even with his own observations, he had no way of fully understanding his situation, nor of being able to properly plan out his actions alone.

Arthur knew of one man who could help him, one man who could keep quiet about his problems and possibly hold a solution.

He came to the conclusion that he _needed_ to see Gaius.

He would explain everything to Gaius.

It was the only action to make sense, at the time. Gaius, evidently, had known about Merlin's magic, and was incredibly wise, knowledge of the world more vast than anyone else Arthur had known. If anyone could help him in regaining his sense of self, it had to have been the physician. Perhaps he'd been the source of Merlin's particular moments of wisdom.

Or, perhaps that had just been a product of Merlin's true personality shining through. Arthur had no way of knowing, did not even wish to confront this version of his manservant about the subject.

There were a few reasons as to why this was.

The whole... _'avoiding Merlin as much as possible'_ issue.

He'd come to understand that Merlin had done certain _things_ to prevent his death, to keep him safe and to halt fate as much as he could. If the Merlin he'd walked all the way to Camelot with knew that he would fail in the end no matter what sacrifices he'd made - and, really, Arthur didn't _know_ the extent of those sacrifices - he wasn't sure how the sorcerer would react.

Merlin had seemed more desperate than ever in his efforts to save Arthur's life. He shook his head, wishing to put it from his mind.

Not to mention the fact that Arthur did not entirely know if he wanted to speak to Merlin at all, actually. He'd been purposefully not speaking to his servant for that specific reason; during his death, he hadn't been in the clearest state of mind, and said what he'd expected to be his last words. Those last words held more meaning than anything he'd ever said before.

He had no idea of what more he could say, what wouldn't somehow devalue or detract from their last moment.

 _'I was limp in your arms one night prior,'_ did not seem a decent conversation starter, but it was one of the few things he could think of saying that had nothing to do with magic directly.

Perhaps, he considered, Gaius would be able to help him. Unfortunate as it was to admit it, the physician knew and understood Merlin more than anyone else, and especially more than Arthur himself. It seemed that he'd always been able to be sensitive to the warlock's feelings and to his importance regarding all of Albion. Then again, such made sense, as he'd known of Merlin's magic.

As he approached the door, he could make out muffled speaking. After a quick look around him, he pressed his head against the door and listened more intently, wishing to catch what information he was able, recognizing one voice as strangely placed in the back of his mind.

"Have you ever come across a sorcerer...called Emrys?"

The slow and methodical tone felt like a dagger in Arthur's stomach.

Or, more appropriately, his back.

He'd momentarily forgotten himself. Yes. Agravaine _was_ still his trusted uncle, back then. He tried not to focus too hard on this fact, tried to push it to the back of his mind, yet it sent him reeling internally. He'd caused so much heartbreak for Arthur, so much pain, nearly pushed him down the path of being an irredeemable king. He'd tricked Arthur, betrayed him, earned his trust and crushed it.

Well. He hadn't been the first to do that, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"No, doesn't sound familiar."

For some reason, the voice of Gaius filled him with a bit of solace. After what Arthur assumed to be years of keeping Merlin's secret, he wasn't sure why he had any doubt that the physician would out the sorcerer just then. He'd have known about it back then if that were the case. Arthur shook his head and rung his fingers through his mussed blond hair.

There was no reason to worry so vehemently about Merlin's secret staying a secret. He'd had enough to put his energy into, and knew that his servant had done a fine job on his own. His very first priority was to see Gaius and get his problems figured out, absolutely _no_ distractions.

He was grateful that he'd stepped away from the door when his uncle stepped out.

Taking on an expression Arthur couldn't decipher - was that suspicion? perplexity? unease? - Agravaine instinctively nodded and opened his mouth, likely to ask what it was that Arthur had been doing there. Before he could get a single word out of his slippery tongue, however, his nephew beat him to it and smiled in what he'd hoped was something akin to fondness.

"Agravaine," greeted Athur as civil as he thought possible. "I could not have helped overhearing your conversation - forgive me. I'd been on my way to speak with Gaius. Though...understand that I must wonder - what is it you are doing, searching for a _sorcerer_?"

Like the quick-witted and masterful actor Arthur knew him as, Agravaine smiled and let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. "King's orders, Sire. I am under strict instruction to investigate a possible threat to Camelot."

"I've issued no such orders," he replied automatically, feeling as though he'd caught his uncle in a lie.

For just a few seconds, Agravaine seemed taken aback.

He stood with his mouth slightly ajar, looking as if Arthur had gone completely mad. There was genuine confusion in his voice as he spoke, "...Perhaps there _is_ reason to pay Gaius a visit, my afflicted nephew," as he stared in a sort of bafflement one could easily misplace as concern, he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I've been given command by King Uther. Had you misheard me?"

After the words passed his uncle's lips, Arthur suddenly felt a chill run up his spine as the broken pieces of his world began to re-align and re-connect.

"My father," he said breathlessly. "Of course, yes, I - you are correct. I'd...first heard you wrong."

The two stood a moment longer, Agravaine in an uncomfortable silence and Arthur consumed by the conflicting feelings of his new revelation. His time, his place, and his circumstances all immediately became secondhand to this information. His uncle gave him a curt nod and a gentle pat on the shoulder before sauntering off, leaving Arthur in his daze.

Uther, Arthur's father, was alive.

It made sense, in the end. At the time that the Veil had been closed, his father had still been alive, and he'd still been king. A widely disliked and aging king, but a longtime king nonetheless. At the time that Arthur was sent into the world, thrust back in time and into life, his father was once more alive. The variety of feelings he'd been experiencing sent him into a lightheadedness.

By then, he'd long since accepted Uther's death, had to send him back to the world of spirits himself. And he wasn't sure how encountering his father the way he was then, as the man and leader he'd become, would play out.

Arthur did know, however, that he wanted to see Uther.

More than anything else in that moment, he had to look into his father's face, at least once more.

The door leading to Gaius was left forgotten as he hurried to the castle.

* * *

Even following his coronation, Arthur never thought it fit to take over Uther's chambers. The bed would likely have haunted him with nightmares, ones more ferocious than that which he'd already been plagued with. Such a bed was far more fit to an older king, a tenser king. He'd preferred his own sheets, the own canopy darkening his vision at night, the atmosphere of young royalty.

The fabric, as well. Silky as the velvet flower and just as decadent in color.

Uther's bed fit Uther and no one else.

Back when he'd been crowned king, Arthur set the room off-limits to anyone besides himself. Whenever he'd felt the need of true solitude, he'd sit in his father's chair and at times rest his eyes. It was the only place in the castle truly isolated and quiet, the only room in which Arthur indeed was alone, no one else to bother him or tell him how to play out his own destiny.

Regretfully, the room served another purpose. Any time he'd rethink his stance on magic, after any moment of what he'd considered weakness in his protection of Uther's legacy, Arthur would enter the room and relive the scene. It was a reminder.

At that moment, he was not alone.

Admittedly, Arthur had imagined his father in that particular room, but the apparition had never been real. It never had a beating heart, a rising and falling chest, or lively and somewhat gentle yet firm eyes.

"Have you business with me?"

Then again, Uther had never been _truly_ gentle. Arthur never expected that, nor did he fault him for it.

He coughed, having not thought of the first words he would say to his father. "Yes, well - no, actually, I...this is simply for personal reasons."

It had been the worst excuse in the whole kingdom, he thought, even including the ridiculous ones he could remember off the top of his head from Merlin to explain all of his strange behavior. _Personal_ reasons? Uther had never been entirely personal. What sorts of personal reasons could Arthur even come up with?

However, there was a knowing glint in his father's eyes, his face lifting into a small smile, as if he'd said something particularly funny or made Uther realize something pleasant. It confused Arthur first and foremost, but that had been overwhelmed by an indescribable emotion in his chest. As if a wound had been opened just from seeing his father's smiling face, warm blood pooling across him. His shoulders fell, as did his defenses.

It was painful, yet brought him more happiness than he'd remembered feeling in years. He couldn't even bring himself to question it.

"Then...is this simply to remind me? Did you believe that I would forget," the current king seemed to strain himself as he spoke, but seemed in high spirits nonetheless, "that the anniversary of your birth...is in just a few nights?"

...Ah.

It seemed that Arthur had completely forgotten about his birthday.

That was right. It was his birthday. His mind automatically made the connection. If it was his birthday, it _had_ to have been...

"You think I would miss my son's anniversary?"

Arthur couldn't feel the full force of affection, not when his mind was sent spiraling into such an abyss. He'd responded, possibly, but did not register what it had been, and quickly walked to his chamber, wishing to fall directly asleep. He stared down to his booted feet, feeling not at all within his own body as his legs moved back and forth, carrying him along.

He'd nearly collapsed onto his bed right then.

A hand was suddenly on his metal-padded shoulder. "Going to sleep already?"

Right.

Merlin had to aid him in removing his armor. He nodded and promptly averted his eyes, likely arousing the suspicion of his manservant, but he couldn't find it in himself to care enough at the moment. It was unnatural, probably, how detached he'd felt to this Merlin. Perhaps with a bit of sleep and a few moments of personal reflection, he could connect more with the other, yet...

Just when he'd been able to speak to Uther again, right when he'd gotten his father back, he would lose him again.

That _couldn't_ happen.

"All done, Sire."

Damn it. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, not caring if the other saw.

There were many instances of Merlin calling him by _Sire_ , and him doing so more recently most likely meant he'd felt dejected. At least, that was what seemed probable, what with his own mistreatment of the sorcerer, or a lackthereof. Arthur couldn't bother himself with that, as much as he'd wanted to, and gave an admittedly rude push to his manservant.

Perhaps if he'd been in a clearer state of mind, he'd have felt guilty, or possibly apologized, _maybe_. But at that very moment, he desired nothing more than to simply shut his eyes and erase everything that had happened that day from his mind, if only temporarily. He would think about it when the sun rose.

He hoped that when he woke up - well...

Really, he simply hoped that he _would_ wake up.

* * *

"I'd...expected you to be - "

"Yes," Lancelot responded, understanding Guinevere's statement entirely, yet not wanting to hear it.

In a sense, it felt shameful to acknowledge that he'd accepted death so quickly and so easily.

Not only for his Lord, but for her.

The second one she'd gone to see had been him. Once she received word of his return, she knew they had to talk. And yet, she had no idea of what to say which could correctly get across her feelings, her questions. They'd spoken before, bonded deeply before, and he knew that she hadn't been expecting him to come back to Camelot. She and him had something of a silent agreement, a heartbreaking yet understanding and silent _goodbye_.

Neither anticipated for him to have survived. He'd planned on taking the prince's place as the sacrifice to close the Veil.

They locked eyes, each attempting to convey as much emotion as possible, the absolute relief and confusion. "Please...do not get the wrong idea. I am _glad_ that you're back, Lancelot, so _very_ glad. More than that, even. I'd just," instead of continuing her statement, she sighed, allowing a breath she felt like she'd been holding for years to finally escape.

He nodded and smiled softly at her, a gruff tenderness she'd become so accustomed to seeing on his face, the look that never seemed to go away in her presence. Lancelot knew that she had queries, the same ones he'd had.

Yet, he could also see how the topic may have seemed rude to bring up in her eyes.

Even though ' _why are you alive_ ,' was a rather valid inquiry.

Wishing more than anything to comfort her, Lancelot slipped his hand to hers, intertwining their fingers.

* * *

Awaken, he did. Soon enough, it reached the anniversary of his birth.

His head was somewhat stable, events falling less into a jumbled mess and more into a linear pathway, much like how a normal man's memory _should_ have been. The sleep had been deep and refreshing, reminding him somewhat of what it had seemingly been like to die. The perceived loss of existence, the balance of his spirit and mind, it all was extremely familiar.

It helped him in figuring out a plan.

"Oh!" An exclamation from Merlin caught his attention later that morning. His manservant had been staring through the window, head poking out and marveling at the various entertainers ambling through the kingdom. "Did you see that?"

Just as he vaguely recalled doing before, Arthur stuck his gaze to where Merlin was staring, yet he didn't respond. Instead, his eyes were focused on a specific performer within the sea of people. His sickly colored makeup strangely made him blend in with the crowd, but Arthur would have recognized him immediately no matter what the people around him appeared as.

It was the Gleeman, he knew. The one who would attack him. The one who would ultimately kill his father.

His first intention was to strike his sword through the dagger-wielding whoreson's chest.

Before he even made a move, though, he'd already realized how _bad_ of an idea that was. Arthur couldn't simply kill a man without reason - well, he _could_ \- but it would likely not give him the favor of the people. Connecting with his subjects was, evidently, a large part of what made him a great king. Seemingly killing those he was meant to protect would ruin that.

A sad and difficult situation, he'd definitely been put into. Yet, Arthur was not one to give up easily. He concluded that he would take care of the murderer when the time came, and that he'd be _prepared_.

It would happen during his birthday celebration that night. All he had to do was wait, keep on his toes, strategize as if he were on the battlefield and ready to take on a formidable foe. He analyzed the moment over and over in his mind, thinking long about how it all went, about how it would go that time around, about how Arthur was certain that he could alter his father's fate.

In the end, it was up to him.

That night came much more quickly than he'd been anticipating.

His eyes were consistently on the Gleeman, not at all on what his targets were, face stone cold and barely moving a muscle. He gradually had to learn to act mirthful and joyous, noticing the suspicious and worried glances he'd received from his family and their servants. He had to at least pretend as if he was having a good time. It was his birthday, after all.

Well. His birthday _again_.

When a servant leaned to pour wine into his goblet, Arthur raised a hand to stop him.

Uther's affectionate, tired gaze sent a wave of pain and comfort into his heart all at once. He'd completely forgotten how emotionally open his father had been in his later years, and especially in his dying days. The age clearly got to him, no matter how little they spoke of it. "You've not had a single drop, Arthur," he said.

The last expression he'd seen on his father, spirit or not, had been a determined hatred. That was suddenly replaced with one of love and kindness, just from the past couple of days. It made him almost want to thank Merlin a million times over, just for allowing him this look at Uther, for letting him see once more what kind of man his father could be.

"I've already had enough as it is, father," he lied in response.

In reality, Arthur had a very good reason not to be drinking his wine.

Back when he'd witnessed the beginnings of his father's murder, he'd been far too drunk to offer himself any decent defense, and that ultimately led to his father stepping in. That time around, he planned to be in the best, clearest state of mind possible. That meant no wine, as well as keeping his guard up, regardless of how many strange gazes came his way.

He'd already resolved the issue with himself. He _would_ save his father.

Saving his father meant killing the Gleeman, which he'd wanted to do from the very start. Though, he knew that he had to wait until the right moment.

And wait he did, eyes fixated on the murderer performing in front of him with concealed resentment and anticipation.

Next to him, Merlin leaned in and muttered, "What is it that's so interesting about the knife thrower? You've had your eyes on him all night so far, Arthur."

It took him partially by surprise and he looked up, eyes involuntarily softening. "I find his act rather fascinating, that is all," he gave a pithy smile and jerked his head to the side, attempting to put on a relaxed act. "You're at a party, Merlin - don't be quite so tense."

He then wondered as the younger version of his manservant straightened his back with a blank face if Merlin ever was able to lose the tenseness. It wasn't as if Arthur could be considered much better, though. They'd both always found it rather hard to relax at any moment in time, likely for the same reasons, he realized faintly. That definitely had to be true if Merlin's destiny was at all as serious as Arthur's.

And, from the way he'd spoken about it, that seemed to be the case. It sounded almost as if Merlin had more experience with fate than even he did, and he wasn't sure of how accurate that was.

"I require a volunteer!"

The voice shocked Arthur out of his thoughts. It sent his blood running cold.

It had been the Gleeman, ready to take Arthur as his subject of entertainment.

It wasn't long before, "Do you accept the challenge?" slipped through the slimey teeth.

He hadn't even considered backing down, knowing what had happened. He figured that it was simply a way of the man taunting him, of trying to make an impression on Arthur before attempting to end his life. It was an insult, and he agreed to the little game in a heartbeat. If it was his way of being coy, Arthur would play along, at the very least to allow the man a good, long look at his face.

Arthur would ensure himself engraved in the man's head before ending his life.

It wasn't long before he'd been tied to the wheel. While spinning, he began to notice quite a few things he hadn't before. A few facial expressions.

His father, directly behind the Gleeman, was carefully observing, eyes and mouth alternating between concerned and impressed. Both Merlin and Guinevere had looks of complete apprehension, as if she were about to jump forward and pull him from the ropes, or as if he were about to...well, obliterate the dagger wielding man if he were to try anything.

Then, his uncle seemed utterly amused.

To call him a bastard would have been an insult to bastards all across Albion.

One dagger flew at his face, sticking to the side of his head.

Arthur wondered in that moment what would have happened, had he ignored Agravaine that entire time, had he seen through the facade and listened instead to his instincts, had he allowed himself to be the king he always should have been. The king who appeared in equal standing by the intelligence of Gwen, the king Merlin pushed him to be.

Was that enough? Was he, in the end, truly the king he was supposed to be? If that was true, that raised the question of why he'd still been alive. It was clearly his destiny to die then, and if that hadn't been fulfilled, had he not become the right sort of king?

The second blade nearly cut his cheek, but barely missed.

And then, he stared down his knights, and his eyes shifted to Gwen. What of Lancelot? By returning, he'd ended up saving his knight's life. That wasn't something he could ever say that he'd regret. However, it certainly would have caused some issues. When he'd returned briefly, even as a mere shadow of himself, Lancelot proved a subject of Guinevere's affections.

Would that continue? Would it happen yet again, though with the _real_ one? The concern sent a dark feeling through his stomach.

As expected, the last dagger stuck itself in the fruit, pushing Arthur's teeth back.

Cheers erupted and all who were even the slightest bit perturbed breathed sighs of relief. The Gleeman's secondhand man untied the uncomfortable ropes and Arthur landed to the ground, removing the apple from his mouth and letting out a short laugh as his father's killer bowed. He shook his head in disgust, hoping to disguise it as endearment, and walked away.

He eyed Merlin's expression, one he'd seen countless times, one that spoke louder than any words could have.

"Nothing to worry about," he said casually, then bit into the apple.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooooly shit okay so this is the kind of chapter length I've been wanting to have for my last couple of ones. I put a lot in here but only because I jumped around a lot and it's kind of daunting for a reader.
> 
> But like. Yeah. I wanted to note that some unclear things here will be made clear later. That's the plan, anyway.

Clouds surrounded all of Albion, shrouding the true time of day in mystery and capturing the gloom of the morning.

It looked as if the sky would begin sobbing at any moment, as if the Earth itself was mourning. The air was humid and sorrowful, hot and melancholy. The land and trees were painted a grey, original colors diluted. Nature knew what it had lost that day.

Out in the woods, it was quiet.

Leaned against a trunk had been the world's greatest sorcerer. Merlin could still feel the tears staining his cheeks.

Kilgharrah was long gone, Arthur's empty body having already disappeared into the distance of the water. The dragon's furious words echoed within his head, pounding against his skull. Merlin slumped over, sliding to rest himself.

_"You have shifted fate as no man has before," was a statement Merlin might have in some circumstances considered positive, yet the enormous beast towered over him threateningly and gave a whole new meaning to the words. "Should you prove unable to right your wrong, the world around you shall collapse! You must first and foremost undo your actions, young warlock. Otherwise..."_

He'd made a mistake.

Merlin had made a _grave_ mistake.

One side of him argued that he'd done it on accident. He hadn't _meant_ to alter the balance of the world, to cast such a dangerous spell. He'd just been so _desperate_ to keep Arthur alive that, at such point, he would have done anything.

And anything, he evidently did.

It wasn't as if he'd done the magic on purpose. Yes, Merlin learned to more or less control his magic throughout his years, but he couldn't say that he'd perfected it.

He imagined more than once that his lack of personal control would be his downfall, but the way in which he assumed it would happen would have been through a misuse in front of someone who would turn him in, or who would directly have him killed.

Even directly after Arthur's soul passed, he hadn't realized what he'd done. Only after Kilgharrah told him did he understand the gravity of the situation. In a last attempt to save his king, he'd used a type of magic he'd purposefully avoided using in the past.

Time magic.

He had, in a sense, sent Arthur back in time. Or, at the very least, his spirit. That much, Merlin could understand.

A sorcerer was not meant to change the course of history so dramatically. Out of curiosity, Merlin had often researched magic regarding time travel and control, the type that many a warlock had been either unable to use or too afraid to use. He knew the repercussions, the issues that could arise from such abilities, yet he did so anyway. Could that have been his fault, really?

For a time, magic was all he had.

And then...

Arthur's soul was somewhere in time, altering the events of the past, no doubt. He must have felt lost, disoriented, because Merlin _knew_ that the king had died, felt the last breath he took, saw the life leave his eyes and his lips still. It was the most agonizing event for Merlin to have been forced to watch, to see in close detail how he'd failed, how he'd lost the one most important to him.

How could the sorcerer put back together what he'd broken? There seemed no hope. He hadn't even known _when_ he'd sent Arthur back to.

Merlin's very essence was magic. He could sense the equilibrium of the world around him shifting.

 _"Father, you have it wrong,"_ there was Arthur's voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere within his memories. _"I saw the man throw the dagger himself. I saw him. Merlin has no magic, you know this."_

Where had that come from?

He jerked his head up and thought back, new memories forming alongside those which he knew were true. It was happening so quickly, much more quickly than he'd ever expected. Merlin thought he may have had a bit of time to fix his problem, but it seemed that the results of his actions were hitting him straight away, not giving him the time to rest, to think.

It sent him in a state of panic, and he concentrated on his breathing for a moment before recollecting his thoughts.

Merlin knew only one thing, and knew it well.

He _had_ to fix the problem he'd created.

* * *

Somewhere along the lines, Arthur had made a mistake.

The festivities had gone just as he'd remembered, him avoiding his wine all the while. As the night went on, he began getting increasingly anxious, tapping his fingers impatiently against the wooden table and being unable to focus entirely when he'd been asked questions or talked to. Some things, he could remember his responses to from when it had happened before. Others had slipped his mind completely.

Much like his other birthdays, noble women throughout the land spoke mostly to him, wondering about his life and his kingdom, lacking subtlety in their attempts at gauging whether he'd been marriage material. He ignored them, and attempted to ignore the obvious look of jealousy from Guinevere, as well as the amused expression of Merlin.

It was strange how Merlin had been against his romantic attempts with those other than Gwen. As if he'd known from the very beginning just how much he'd cared for her, how much he couldn't live without her.

The fact that his manservant had been so determined to set the two up was something Arthur had been rather grateful for. Even disregarding his love for Gwen, he knew that she'd made a wonderful and caring queen. She connected with the people, knew their stories, gave them hope in a way he couldn't imagine any other queen or even any other royal leader had.

There was a remarkable way she'd been able to talk with others. She had a specific type of face, a certain look which could seemingly understand anyone. Guinevere had the capacity and intent to love and care for many. That had caused many an issue in their relationship, no matter how Arthur admired it.

Perhaps the trait was a double-edged sword.

His mistake, however, had nothing to do with that.

After a few hours - Arthur didn't know exactly _how_ long, dizzy as he was - he started to realize his speech running together and his mind becoming dark and vacant, as well as a dulling of both his emotions and senses, and a sudden urge to fall asleep on his chair. His eyelids were falling at a slower and heavier pace than usual and the light of the room's candles strained his vision.

_The apple._

Of course it had been the apple. How could Arthur have been so _stupid_ as to accept any sort of food, suspicious in nature or not, from a known enemy? The fruit must have had a sort of sedative, or the knife which embedded it previously did.

His plan would be ruined, he realized as he stepped through the door to his room. Arthur couldn't fight off a murderer in that state. He knew he couldn't because he'd tried and failed to do so before. _No_ , he thought despairingly. History just couldn't repeat itself. He wouldn't allow it. He'd defied his own fate, aided in Lancelot defying his, and he knew he could do the same for his father.

Arthur's glazed over eyes locked with Merlin's. Something escaped the other's mouth, something claiming him to have been drunk. It didn't get through far enough to be truly heard.

He knew of one solution only, and the repercussions of such did not pass through his mind enough to convince him of otherwise. Arthur needed help. He needed to stop his father from being murdered. But he knew that he couldn't do it himself. Not in that state.

As he stared at Merlin, he began to realize what had to be done.

If Arthur were a better, or perhaps more intelligent person, he would have found it within himself to explain his situation to Merlin. Or, if he weren't so heavy in the head from the drug he'd been slipped. All he could make out from his unorganized thoughts was that he'd needed to have some sort of backup, someone who could halt his father's demise at any cost.

"Merlin," he started, leaning himself against the bed frame and trying not to slur his words. It proved difficult for him to stop seeing the world as if it were spinning - hah, _spinning_ , it seemed as though the joke was truly on him - and he felt his head rocking back and forth. "I need you to - to come with me to see my father."

His manservant stared strangely at him, eyebrow raised.

At first, he'd expected his servant to question him, but all he'd received was an amused smile. "...Not much of a surprise you'd need someone with you like this. Though, you probably should put _all_ of your clothes on before walking around the castle."

Arthur had never been so grateful to have forgotten his trousers.

Their walk to his father's room was something of a blur.

He couldn't bear thinking of what would happen, should his plan fail. It was hard to imagine having to lose his father a second time, to hold Uther in his arms as the man died yet again, and wondered briefly why Merlin would have done something so cruel as to send him back at that moment, just before two of the most prominent tragedies in his life.

It convinced him even further that it had to have been a mistake, that something went wrong, because to consider that Merlin would purposefully put him through all of that was more than unbearable.

As he swayed slightly, his shoulder brushed against Merlin's, and he pulled away.

He took a seat beside his sleeping father and smiled softly. He'd hoped that it wasn't the last day he'd see that peaceful expression.

"Servant boy," a quiet voice behind him caused a hitch in Arthur's breath, "if you are keen on living, you will remain where you are."

And just as it had happened before, Arthur turned around, jaggedly attempting to defend himself as the warlock looked on in abject horror. There were moments in their exchange that Arthur could see him wanting to do something, to possibly cast a spell or to physically push him out of the way of the attacker. Arthur couldn't keep track of his own movements.

At least, not until he was thrown to the ground. Just as he'd done before, Uther stepped in the way, his own sword brandished and blocking the blow that may have otherwise killed the once and future king.

He lied on the ground, coming up to his knees and witnessing the repeated events as if they were rehearsed.

In the corner of his eye stood his distressed manservant.

 _This_ was the reason Arthur had Merlin go with him in the first place.

The former king of Camelot stared pleadingly at the warlock, overcome with trepidation, eyes distraught and matching the other's anxiety. He knew that Merlin would be fearful of doing anything rash, especially at that point, but Arthur himself was unable to stop it. Merlin had to do something, whether or not it involved magic, and Arthur could handle whatever came after.

Or, that was how he'd felt at the time.

Their gazes met. A look that Arthur wouldn't remember passed between them.

Something like resignation overtook Merlin's face as he pressed his lips together and turned away.

On the ground, the Gleeman held up a dagger as Uther prepared to finish him with a sword. Arthur's eyes were trained on the sorcerer, whose own briefly shone a breathtaking gold, something he'd vaguely recognized, and his lips moved to speak a likely ancient language. The smaller blade seemed to be thrust from the perpetrator's hand, flying unnaturally through the air and landing several feet away.

It dropped to the hard floor with a _clank_ , and before the shock could register on either the two's faces, Uther struck the fallen and failed killer.

He hadn't waited for the life in the Gleeman's eyes to leave, and turned around in - Arthur had seen that look before - betrayal, shock, and wrath. All directed at Merlin, who almost appeared to have already accepted his fate.

" _Sorcerer_ ," the king whispered, voice hoarse and lips tense as if he'd swallowed a bottle full of poison. "You...are a _sorcerer_. You used magic!"

The other hadn't responded, probably didn't know _how_ to respond in the face of an angry king; well, an angry one he hadn't known for years personally and hadn't called a prat on more than one occasion. Uther was about to call for the guards, he was sure of it, and he'd actually felt thankful, if only for a moment, that the Gleeman knocked them out.

Arthur stood, attempting to regain his balance as well as he could, and pushed himself between his father and manservant.

He had to think of something.

The accusations kept coming, louder in tone, as Uther attempted to push his son out of the way and get directly at Merlin. " _You_ forced the dagger from his hand! _Magic_ , at the _heart_ of Camelot, I will have your head for this - !"

With one look at his manservant, at his best friend, one fixed gaze at the terror and hopelessness, Arthur knew of the only solution.

* * *

Walking to the Crystal Cave was something of a blur.

It had been the only area which Merlin thought could provide some level of solitude, as well as insight. He'd received visions of the future there before, had encountered a spirit in the form of his deceased father, and he hoped that the cave could allow him time to think and mull over his decisions, or if it could give him the answer of how to fix what he'd done.

If it _couldn't_ , well...

He wasn't entirely sure of what he would do. It seemed his last resort.

The memories kept appearing out of nowhere, in no particular order. He'd remember something, then get an entirely new memory of the exact same time, only with differing events or words exchanged.

It was because of Arthur, because Merlin had sent him back into the past.

As he walked, he took note of various sharp protrusions from the ground, some lying seamlessly. They nearly looked like daggers.

It felt as if his head was splitting open, like he was becoming a completely different person, or like he was genuinely going mad. Not the type of _'mad'_ that nearly everyone assumed him as, but the real kind. It'd been daunting and unnerving. He couldn't blame his king, not really, as it wasn't exactly his fault. No, it was absolutely Merlin's fault, and he was then paying the price.

He'd wondered for a moment if entering the caves had been an entirely sound idea, as just a few minutes into his trek through the darkened area, he began to hear people speaking. Some were him, some were others, but all were those he'd known.

They were much like the memories, though clearer, harder to push away.

_"You have to marry Guinevere."_

The words came in his own voice. Had he said that before? No, he didn't remember where that had come from, what spurred him to say something like that. He'd sounded angry and demanding, as if Arthur - he _assumed_ that he'd been speaking to Arthur, at least - were arguing with him on whether to marry Gwen or not. Yet, how could that have been?

Arthur had already married Gwen. It was highly unlikely that he'd have suddenly changed his mind. Merlin blamed it on the cave tricking him and moved on.

It was hard to tell what was a product of his own memory altering and what was of the power coming from the crystals.

An image of Lancelot flashed before his eyes. _"I've seen how you two are acting around each other,"_ he didn't know which two the knight was referring to, but still listened in. _"We can't fail this mission over a quarrel between friends - I'm going into the temple, as well."_

Those were definitely never words spoken by the bloodied warrior. Merlin began to wonder if this were truly visions of the past, or false visions of the future. He shook it off as best he could and continued forward. The deeper he went into the cave, the more vivid the hallucinations became. He'd wondered if that was the cave itself, or his magic interacting with it.

He decided that in the end, it didn't matter. His figure reflected on the sharp crystals throughout the dark cavern. It seemed almost alive, and despite that, he felt entirely alone.

One last voice came - this time, sounding like Arthur's.

_"Merlin, I love you."_

Both his body and his mind stopped on their tracks.

A minute passed, then another. Merlin stayed put and the voices got much quieter, the magic halting in place alongside him.

What had _that_ been about? When had that happened? When _would_ it happen?

It sounded so heartfelt, sent affection throughout him, but it was nothing like how Arthur had normally been. Arthur, of all people, wouldn't have said that to _him_. He had no idea of why the king would have said that, or when, or even if he _did_. Again, he thought as logically as possible. Was that the cave's way of trying to confuse him further? If that was the intent, it certainly succeeded.

Then again, the imagined voice actually served to calm him, in a sense. He attempted to ward away the rest of the hallucinations, outright ignoring the ones he'd been unable to stop.

Perhaps it was due to his mind being so vulnerable at the time. He'd only just lost the one most important to him, his absolute best and most cherished friend, and that may have affected his magic and, in turn, its interactions with the cave. That seemed to make the most sense, and certainly explained why the forced visions and words were weighing down on him so heavily.

Eventually, he'd come to a clearing, and began to recognize the faint sound of running water. The cave no longer was suffocating and instead filled him with a strange sense of freedom, of tranquility.

The peace came to a rapid end, however.

Surrounded by the clear formations ahead, there stood Arthur.

* * *

"Father, you have it wrong," Arthur stood confidently in front of his friend, staring at his father with what he'd hoped appeared as pity and determination. "I saw the man throw the dagger himself. I _saw_ him. Merlin has no magic, you know this."

He'd attempted to sound as reasonable as possible, as though the very idea of accusing Merlin of being a sorcerer was ludicrous, yet he had no idea of what actions Uther would take. The way in which the warlock had used his magic made what had happened undeniable, at least from Arthur's angle, but he hoped that his explanation was a bit more believable for his father, who had his back turned at the time.

Arthur didn't want to turn around and see how his manservant had reacted.

" _I heard him!"_ the booming voice of Uther responded. "He spoke only as sorcerers speak!"

The prince shook his head and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, trying to seem as concerned and as logical as he could.

All the while, Merlin remained with his mouth closed, possibly in shock at either Uther's rage or Arthur's insistence, or at both. He felt grateful. Though he knew that Merlin wasn't stupid - which wasn't something he'd have liked admitting before - he also knew that the sorcerer at that moment had no idea of what could spark this defensiveness in the prince.

He'd known that Arthur saw him use magic. There wasn't any doubt about that. He must have been _beyond_ puzzled.

Arthur spoke lowly and nodded in understanding. "...You know what you know, father. If what you believe you saw and heard is indeed true, we _should_ punish him thoroughly," the words seemed to calm Uther down slightly, and the prince continued. "But the festivities of tonight should not be interrupted by matters of court. A proper investigation should be held next morning."

They stood silently for a moment, the former king not having a real idea of what Uther may do. He'd always been something of a wild card in how he reacted to everything, especially concerning magic. However, he knew that he had the advantage of it being his birthday, childish as it was.

"This is true," Uther said slowly, hatred never leaving his eyes as he focused on Merlin. "Escort him to the dungeon. We will have a fit trial when the sun rises, but for the time being, I want him _out_ of my sight."

Willing himself not to breathe a sigh of relief, the prince nodded and turned, finally getting a look at the warlock's horrified and lost face. It was almost laughable, and Arthur took Merlin by the arm, being a little more forceful than usual as they both hurried out of the king's chambers. Merlin seemed too out of it to resist, not that Arthur expected him to in the first place. His eyes were stuck on the prince's.

One last look behind him showed his father, sitting unreadable with a hand holding his head.

It seemed that once they both reached beneath Camelot's castle walls, the sorcerer found his voice.

"Arthur," Merlin's weak voice reverberated against the stone walls. "You saw me. You - you _saw_ \- "

He was cut off by a heavy sigh from the then-prince, who turned to look Merlin in the eyes. "The fact that you saved my father's life matters not to him. You could prevent all of Camelot from devastation using magic, which," he paused and got a distant glaze in his eyes, taking a breath in faint realization, "you...all things considered, likely _have_ done before, and it would make no difference to him."

The two were stopped at one of the cell doors. The prince's words evidently stunned Merlin to near silence. "You...you've," he cut himself off, eyes glimmering as if he were about to _cry_ , and Arthur nearly rolled his eyes as his stomach and frown dropped even further.

"We can talk about this later, Merlin," he said dismissively. "Understand that my father will go to any lengths to ensure your execution. I will...I will speak with Gaius before the sun rises and we will ensure that no harm should come to you."

How exactly they were to do that, Arthur had no idea, though he assumed that the physician would know the answer. He'd truly been the prince's only hope by that point and, in turn, also Merlin's. They had to come up with something - anything which would convince his father that he'd been wrong in what he'd seen, or at least to convince the people of Camelot.

Apparently, his reassuring words worked, and the sorcerer nodded after moments of internal conflict. He likely had a thousand things to say, countless worries to express, but it had already gotten late and Arthur was still feeling the effects of the sedative.

"You know," Merlin said evenly and quietly. "You know that I have magic."

It sounded almost like a question, but not quite. Like a sort of clarification, more than anything else. Arthur paused. He hadn't been very clear in his wording, he had to admit, and his manservant would worry himself to death if he hadn't known for sure.

"Yes," he replied. "I know."

* * *

Not knowing what was to come sent a sort of unease in Arthur.

It wasn't as if he'd been in the past for long, but up until that point, it was simply a reliving of what had already happened to him. Everything was going just as he'd remembered, with only the slightest bit of alterations. Then, he had to go and mess everything up by forcing his manservant, best friend, and undercover sorcerer to save his father's life using magic.

...That wasn't a thought he'd ever expected to have.

Arthur awoke exceptionally early, just as the light of the sky was barely beginning to show. He figured that Gaius would by then be up, judging from how early Merlin seemed used to waking. His suspicions were proven correct after he knocked at the wooden door.

"Come in," came the voice of the old physician.

Gaius had been surprised, yet not immediately concerned. Instead, he'd almost looked relieved. "Prince Arthur," he greeted formally. "Have you seen Merlin? He failed to return home last night."

Immediately, Arthur's throat went dry. He hadn't wanted to be the one to break the news to Gaius and expected that, as the one who was officially the advisor and closest person to the warlock, the king may have already sent for someone to interrogate him. That didn't seem the case - at least, not thus far - and it sent his previously collected thoughts into a whirl again.

He swallowed and momentarily closed his eyes, then opened them.

"I presume that you have not yet been informed of what happened to him, then," was the first thing out of his mouth.

Perhaps that had not been Arthur's best choice of words, as Gaius immediately responded in alarm, "Something _happened_ to him?"

The former king felt deeply grateful for the physician. Without him, he could imagine that Merlin would be lacking one of the only people who could truly understand him. He'd have been without possibly his biggest and most crucial emotional support. At least, that was what Arthur assumed, and it filled him with a small bit of guilt. He pushed the feeling away.

"He is unharmed," Arthur said quickly. "Though, he is being kept in the dungeons beneath Camelot for the time being. Very soon, Merlin will be placed on trial for being a sorcerer and using magic in the presence of the king."

"...Surely, this is absurd," the physician replied in shock, loyal mentor he was.

Attempting to assure Gaius of his side on the matter, Arthur huffed and softened his gaze. "I know," he responded, exasperated, and the physician's brows twitched in dubiety. "That is what I tried to tell my father. I saw the entire scene, Gaius. I plan to try as hard as I possibly can to convince him that it wasn't magic. But, well...you know my father."

Nearly all of the agitation on the older man's face disappeared at that as he nodded.

"In fact, the fact that you do know my father was one reason that you were the first I approached about this," Arthur confessed suddenly. "I came to you because I knew that of all the people in Camelot, I would need your help in convincing him of Merlin's innocence. He may listen to reason if it comes from you, and I have my doubts that Merlin himself would be much help in this situation."

"Sire," Gaius stated lowly, "I believe Merlin is much more capable than you give him credit for."

There it was. That vague praise, the words that didn't seem to make sense because Arthur had been given no context, no level of understanding, no necessary information. It was like a joke - one he'd never been in on. And now that he knew those implications, now that he was told the story leading up to the punchline, it lost any ability it had to be funny in the first place.

Suddenly, the words, _'greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth,'_ popped into his mind.

He rolled his eyes so hard it hurt before responding, "You'll find that I'm very aware of how _capable_ Merlin is, Gaius."

It wasn't even Merlin's capability that had been on his mind; he knew then how the sorcerer was more than competent, probably even to an extent larger than some of his noblemen. It was the fact that Merlin - _this_ version of Merlin, to be exact - had no clue of the true enormity of the circumstances, and that Arthur had no idea of how to bring it up or tell him.

Then again, well, that _was_ Arthur's own fault.

The older man raised an eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "If you're sure of that, Sire."

Of course he wouldn't believe Arthur. That wasn't something he should have found shocking, as he had yet to explain his situation, or even the fact that he knew of Merlin's magic. In the eyes of Gaius, he was just as blind to the truth as he'd been before. He had to convince the man of how wrong that was, of just how much Arthur really _did_ know.

An almost bemused look fell upon the former king's face as he lowered his voice.

"...Allow me to explain myself in full."

* * *

A sharp wound echoed through Merlin's chest as he came face-to-face with Arthur's apparition.

He paid no mind to the crystal shards lying below him, the blade-like rocks as the cavern's decor.

His knees fell weak and he stared up into the face of his slowly approaching friend. As the spirit stepped closer, almost hovering forward, he seemed to stare with the intensity of a million lifetimes. Though he hadn't said anything, there was so much to be felt, the deep connection resonating within Merlin. The sorcerer reached out instinctively to the misty illusion, fingers stretched to grip at the king's arm.

It went right through.

"You aren't real," he said painfully, turning his head away. He knew it from the beginning to be true, yet he didn't want to believe it.

Arthur lowered both his chin and eyelids, casting an incriminating gaze upon the kneeling man. "I am as real as you imagine me to be," he spoke expectedly, then lifted a hand to brush across Merlin's cheek.

For some reason, though it felt somewhat cold, the sensation sent a warmth through him.

"Arthur," he pleaded loudly, not bothering to stand, speaking the name of the figure despite knowing it not to be true. "I've made a mistake. I _know_ that I've made a mistake. I have to fix it. Tell me how to fix it, Arthur, _please_!"

He'd thought that it was the cave he'd been speaking to, but used the name of his king regardless. It felt natural to say it, natural to call the apparition by his name. It was likely a product of Merlin's own imagination and magic, after all; he doubted that it was the cave itself. He didn't make unnecessary assumptions, though, and begged for the advice, no matter what or who it was.

His king's head moved forward in a nod of acknowledgement.

"Think to my death, as harrowing as it is," the voice sounded like the once and future king's, though laced with a maturity and magnitude he'd never been able to achieve in life. "You'd sent my spirit back after it passed from its body, but only then. Why do you believe that was?"

Merlin almost lashed out, almost allowed his anger to get the better of him. How could the figure, whether it be from his own mind or not, have the time to play games with him? To give him riddles like an adult speaking to a child would? He clenched his fists and felt his headache return. "It wasn't as if I could send his body back along with his soul! He needed to be dead for the spell to work - that was what the book _said_!"

The Arthur in front of him hadn't seemed at all phased by the rude and hostile tone. Instead, he nodded again. "Correct. If you are to remedy your ill deed, your only option is to follow that piece once more."

At that, the sorcerer fell silent.

There wasn't an existing spell to pull anyone from any point in time, only those which sent them back.

One meaning to the cave's words stuck in his mind. The only way to fix his mistake was to do unto himself what he'd done to Arthur. Send himself back. Find Arthur's time and cease his reality-warping actions. At the very least, abandon this broken future and stick with the king from the past. He had to. It was the only way he could think that the consequences would be, at the very least, lessened.

Yet, there was only one way to accomplish that.

"You're..." he'd suddenly felt sick. "You're saying that I _have_ to - no, there must be another way - "

He cut himself off and stared at the ground. There was no other way, he understood, and brought a hand to his forehead.

Absently, he reached for a broken crystal.

He stared at his hand through the glass-like and keen gem. He'd almost sliced his thumb open by running it against the edges and pulled his head back up, looking incredulous and hurt.

The apparition gave a sympathetic expression, bringing himself down to eye level with Merlin. It was as if he'd read Merlin's fears and his most prominent thought when he spoke. "You know the nature of the soul. You are deeply familiar with it. Once a being passes, their spirit lingers. Should you do this, you'll likely have no issues in sending your own mind back."

So many questions passed through his mind.

When would he send himself? How could he be sure of when to cast his magic? And yet, he only could bring himself to ask one thing through his deep, dry sobbing.

"...If this doesn't work?" Merlin asked shakily, nearly breaking down and wide-eyed at his imagined companion.

The fake Arthur gave no verbal response. He only smiled softly and tenderly.

Merlin knew the answer.

With a sharp jerk of his arm, he brought the shard to his collar, pulling the front down as far as he could. If he were to say he had no qualms about this, no hesitation in ending his life and pushing his own soul back to an unknown place and time, he would be lying through his teeth. In reality, he feared death more than almost anything else.

Even through all of his heartbreak, throughout all of the people he'd lost and the lives he'd taken, Merlin knew himself to be a fighter. He wouldn't give up. The only reason he'd gone through with this was that it was, technically, just another form of struggling for success.

He'd only been able to feel the blood pour from his neck for a few seconds. The hot anxiety filling his body ran cold as he fell to his side, spitting and convulsing, hands wrapped violently around his chest. Voice still intact, he used his last breath to cast the spell he'd set upon his king not long before, mouth leaking red all the while. His eyes wandered throughout the cave in panic.

Their eyes met.

The last thought Merlin had was a flash of his recent failures, of his immense disappointment. He thought of how he'd lost his closest friend - _no_ , he corrected, the king was more than that, though he couldn't place in what way - and how, if this were to fail, the last thing he'd see would have been Arthur's face.

He came to the conclusion that perhaps, were killing himself not the right decision, and were he to _truly_ pass, that giving up fighting for the first time in his life might have been just fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh wow I took a while to write this one huh.
> 
> Here's 9000 words of shit okay bye

"Sire, our plan was to rid Merlin's quarters of what may be considered suspicious."

"Now, Gaius," Arthur started, pointing the flimsily folded together stack of papers at the older man. "As Camelot's rightful king, it is my responsibility and duty - nay, my _obligation_ \- to educate myself on my kingdom's expansive history."

"You are holding a book about magic, Arthur."

At that, the prince scoffed and held his hands out defensively. "Is magic not part of our history? If I recall, it plays a rather large role, actually. And _this_ \- " he held up the leaflets, showing the cover off, " - is a handwritten record and description of historical sorcerers and sorceresses. It would do well for our safety to research what made them so powerful, yes?"

The disapproving look on the older man's face said everything needed. It was probably wrong to be taking a book that belonged to Merlin, but what _else_ were they to do with it? Or, for that matter, what were they to do with anything else?

There was something within Arthur which gave him a certain fascination with magic. It might have had to do with the fact that he'd been raised from birth to hate it and only just recently began to learn acceptance, and perhaps it was due to Merlin himself that he'd been so interested. But, no, he understood that to be false. He'd always felt a distant relationship with magic.

A deep desire within him to learn more.

His mind wandered back to the vision of his mother. _Born of magic._ Even though he knew it was a lie, it felt like the truth.

Everything about Merlin's quarters seemed so plain and simple on the surface. A single bed in the center of the room, near blank walls, earthy and muted colors found in any commoner's household. It was nothing of suspicion; at least, at first glance. Arthur knew his father's method of trial and knew well that his investigation would turn the entire building around to find anything which could convict Merlin.

Yet, there were books, herbs, leaflets and deformed or partially destroyed ancient-looking jewelry, bottles and foreign liquids hidden all throughout the room. They were underneath sheets, hidden between floorboards, concealed within and behind cabinets. By the time they were finished clearing everything out, they found more than they knew what to do with.

Gaius was muttering something to himself in the corner while scanning a scroll. Arthur thought he'd heard something like, _'never would have allowed him to have this,'_ but decided not to question it.

He hid the book from the older man's sight, placing it within his satchel.

"What will you do with all of this?" the prince asked, referencing the disorganized and multicolored pile.

At that, Gaius pulled his eyes away from whatever he'd been analyzing and eyed Arthur. It seemed as though, while he was still processing all of the information he'd been given just minutes ago, his head was focused on getting the sorcerer's name cleared. It set the former king's mind at ease that there hadn't come any overly negative affects of his explanation.

Gaius was reacting relatively well for someone who'd just been told that the man in front of him had been from the future.

While he was skeptical, it became much easier to believe after Arthur confirmed that it was Merlin's doing. He wondered briefly just how many times the warlock's magic caused such trouble.

The older man responded, "Even your father is not fully aware of my chamber's, Sire. I will have them hidden, for the time being."

Arthur nodded in approval. There was enough reason to trust that the physician had it under control. There were other things they had to worry about, after all. Emptying out any and all physical evidence that may convict Merlin of having magic was only one step in clearing the sorcerer's name, and a lack of real evidence hadn't in the past stopped Uther from holding an execution.

 _And that was the person he'd saved,_ was a thought that passed through his head, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. He shouldn't have been getting second thoughts about saving his father's life, even jokingly. He may not have made all the right decisions, but Arthur loved him.

Still, clearing Merlin's name came before even his own conflicting feelings.

There was a _lot_ that Arthur had to do. He knew from experience just how stubborn his father could be, and how irrational his reasoning could so frequently turn out. Even if there was enough to point to Merlin not having magic, Uther would likely stick religiously to his own eyes and ears. There had to be a way to convince him that what he'd seen and heard was false.

Otherwise, he might have accidentally given up the life of his best friend for the life of his father.

"Be careful, Sire," Gaius said quietly, just before Arthur closed the door.

His travel back to the castle made him far more drowsy than he thought he'd been feeling prior. At such a late hour, he was unable to see many stepping through the stone hallways, only managed to pass by a number of guards, and he secured the door to his chambers shut. Some of his men gave him strange looks, likely confused to see him out so late for seemingly no reason, but he wasn't once confronted.

His head hit the pillow at an alarming speed, sending him almost immediately into unconsciousness.

Within the darkness, within his deep sleep, underneath the moon's light, he felt his spirit shift.

* * *

Merlin awoke with a considerable amount of back pain.

His eyes opened to darkness and the feeling of cold rock beneath his back. At first, he'd thought that he was still in the Crystal Caves, but little added up to that. He'd no longer been kneeling on stone ground; instead, he was lying against the slanted wall of a cave.

He turned his head to the side and tried to adjust his eyesight to his sudden black surroundings. The crystals were completely out of sight, the only source of light snuffed out. All that appeared left was the freezing caverns. From the distant dripping and draft of musty air, he could at least tell that he was still in _a_ cave, but it felt like a completely different one.

What of the Crystal Caves? Where had they gone?

He searched his brain, tried to uncover his muddied memories, and began to remember exactly what he'd done.

_Blood pooling below him, shard of glassy crystal slipping from his cold fingers -_

He stood, shaking the dirt from his otherwise clean clothing; _clean_ , he made note of, because he couldn't feel a single stain. It almost felt like he'd been dreaming, or perhaps moving in slow motion, lugging his body through a thick, dark blanket. Even placing a hand in front of his face, he couldn't see it, let alone make his way through the tunnel.

Merlin took a step forward, then another, and nearly ran himself right into a wall. There was no way he could navigate through properly, and he decided to lay a hand upon the cavern, hoping to feel his way out. His senses were dulled, barely even present, like they were being suppressed.

He'd barely felt there, physically speaking. As if his mind was the only thing moving, and that he was simply pulling his body along.

A minute passed as he made his way blindly. Yet another, followed by countless more.

After what felt like an eternity, Merlin stopped and slid himself down the cave's side.

It hadn't felt like he was getting anywhere.

He buried his face into his knees and groaned, voice echoing. Was he perhaps dead? He could believe it, knew for a fact that he'd _just_ killed himself, but he thought that he'd sent himself back in time, just as he'd done to Arthur. There wasn't anything to show that he'd succeeded or even that he'd failed, only darkness and loneliness, only the empty and unrecognizable caverns.

Maybe this was a form of punishment for what he'd done, some unknown force making him wander endlessly through nothing. Merlin knew of just how badly he'd altered the destinies of everyone he knew, of how he changed their fates, and perhaps this was his comeuppance. Fitting, he thought it.

All he'd wanted was to save the life of the person he cared for most, of the person he was destined to protect. Yes, those intentions caused him to change what should have been left alone, caused him to use a type of magic he shouldn't have, but he'd messed up before in ways that seemed irreversible and on most occasions was able to fix his mistakes.

Something lit up the corner of his vision, prompting him to jerk his head up.

It was a light.

One single light, floating beside him.

Merlin stood in shock.

He couldn't tell where it had come from, or what it was even made of, but it allowed him to adjust his vision to his earthy environment. He wished to reach out and touch it, to grasp the gleam in front of him, but it traveled away from him just before his fingers could wrap around it. The sphere held a familiar heat to it, an inherently comforting essence, but Merlin couldn't quite place where he knew it from.

It slipped past him, glowing to reveal the path ahead. Something within it felt alive, as if it were part of someone's spirit, or conjured through a person's very life force; whatever it was, Merlin knew it came from an outside source.

Someone was guiding him. That much was clear, though he couldn't quite think of who.

The brightness of the sphere painted the cavern's walls a gentle blue, the twisting walls forcing the flow of the wind to push softly against his skin. There was no way he could have been able to find his own way out, even if he'd tried for hours. Too many pathways diverged, to many dead ends, too many strange and unnatural routes made up the caverns.

Every time he fell slightly behind, the light would stop and wait for him to catch up, then shift itself away when he got close enough. It allowed him to finally look down at himself to confirm that yes, he indeed had no visible injuries, and there wasn't any indication that he'd slit his own throat.

How that was possible, he had no idea, but he wondered if it had anything to do with the ethereal orb and its apparent knowledge of how to exit the cave. And yes, he imagined, that was exactly why it was leading him along. If it hadn't given off such a wonted air, he wouldn't have trusted it so quickly, but its own intent was clear. He understood its purpose.

It was showing him the way out.

It was showing him _exactly_ where he needed to be.

And wherever or whenever that was, he would follow. It made him feel strangely loyal, like he'd known it for years, like Merlin had an undeniable connection to the small source of luminosity. His mind followed it, body easing its way as he dragged it along and stepped closer to the light. Though there was no way of figuring his destination, it didn't make him anxious.

Perhaps it was leading him to Hell.

Perhaps it was leading him to _Arthur_.

The wind picked up and he knew, somehow, that he was nearing the cave's end.

* * *

" _Why_ are you trying to postpone this, father?"

Arthur had made plans to return as soon as possible, to confront Merlin _just_ before the sun rose and discuss everything, to - well, not explain himself in his entirety, but to at least come up with a plan to make Merlin out to be the _last_ person a sorcerer could ever turn out. It had worked well before, but fighting against his father's own personal experience was considerably more difficult.

Except, once he'd returned to the castle, he got word that his father put off the trial for a few days, for reasons not explicitly stated. To say that Arthur was displeased would have been an understatement.

Once he'd heard of the newly issued sentence, he threw the doors to his father's throne room open and stalked inside.

Uther leaned back, bringing a gloved hand to his chin. "I will be the first to inform you that something precious has been stolen from our kingdom's vaults," he stated sternly. "Until we can solve this crisis, the investigation will be indefinitely delayed."

"What - this is _absurd_ ," the prince exclaimed. "What's so important that it's been stolen?"

"Three men were killed during the thief's escapade."

Arthur moved forward and raised his voice. "I asked _what_ has been stolen."

"A portion of the triskelion," Uther answered, hanging an arm off of the throne. "It is one of three parts. When all are combined, it creates a key to the tomb of Ashkanar. Within it holds the last dragon egg in all of Albion and _if_ that egg is taken from its place, this kingdom could be in grave danger. It must be destroyed; only then will this ridiculous trial take place."

Once his father mentioned the dragon egg, Arthur tuned out the rest.

He'd completely forgotten about it, about the whole ordeal.

But his first priority was not on the egg; instead, it was on Merlin's trial, first and foremost. He had no idea why it could not just quickly take place, why his father could order him to follow the thief later.

"This would not be the first time you've made a false accusation of sorcery, father," insisted Arthur. "Merlin's trial must take place as soon as possible, else you're...condemning a man to illicit imprisonment! Have you no sense of justice at all? Do you truly wish to go through with the punishment of a man who very well may be innocent?"

"I know he is not innocent," the king stated. "And though I ensured that I will entertain your _affections_ for the boy in thoroughly proving just how _guilty_ he is, there are more pressing matters at hand. After the egg is found and broken, the investigation will commence."

His sure tone sent Arthur into a spiral of rage. He took a step back.

The king was entirely convinced of Merlin's guilt, had no doubts about it at all, and likely thought of it as a game of sorts. He wasn't worried or even upset, only happy to penalize a man for a crime he was surely culpable for. It couldn't have made Arthur more angry, or more resentful of his father. Was there nothing he wouldn't do to harm those affiliated with magic?

Without responding to his father's retort, Arthur made his way down to the dungeons.

* * *

"You _used_ me."

It was the first thing he'd heard Merlin say when he revealed himself from behind the wall, and all he could feel was confusion.

Less than a moment passed before the prince's eyes widened, all of what he'd wanted to say completely gone from his mind.

 _Used_? What could that have possibly been referring to? And last Arthur checked, his manservant was more lost than he'd been when he first arrived in that time. Merlin stared with a mixture of accusatory vexation and amusement. This version of the warlock wasn't like how he'd remembered the man only a day prior, not at all like how nonplussed he'd acted.

Arthur moved forward, getting a better look at the sorcerer. Merlin stood stiffly, arms at his side and lips turned slightly upward. In his face was a form of knowing, a sort of awareness, an understanding which Arthur increasingly saw throughout the years they'd known each other - _wait_.

Was that Merlin?

Was that _his_ Merlin?

He hadn't even considered it, not once, the idea that the sorcerer might come back for him, that he'd have traveled back as well. Could that truly have been the warlock he'd come to know? It would have been the same one who'd saved his life, the same one whose arms he'd died in just a few days before. There was only one possible way to find out, but he couldn't be obvious about it.

"...Merlin?" he asked in a hopefully unequivocal way, in such a manner which could be quickly taken back if he were wrong, but one which could only be construed very specifically, in only one form.

"Yes, My Lord," Merlin replied with a nod.

That was the final aspect gave it away, but something else confirmed it for him. The _eyes_.

They were much darker than he'd seen just the night before, and held a sort of wisdom he only knew could come from one person, at a different time. They were aged beyond the years this Merlin should have seen, stained with the blood of unknown and fallen men, laced with a magic Arthur had so often interpreted as something entirely different.

It _had_ to be...

Arthur's shoulders fell as he spoke breathlessly. "You're _here_. It's...it's _you_. Merlin, you're - hang on," he paused, only just then realizing what his manservant said. " _Used_ you? Exactly how have I used you?"

"You don't know?" there it was, the sarcastic and priggish tone he'd so often associated with the sorcerer. "Well, what about forcing my younger self to help your father live, _and_ to help him kill a man? Or, perhaps, it's the fact that you decided to make me reveal my magic to the _both_ of you, and that you allowed the king to lock me up in a dungeon."

Arthur looked around, disoriented. He hadn't exactly been expecting _this_ to be their first conversation. "I had no other choice!" he said, stretching his arms out, attempting through all of his puzzlement to defend himself.

"Didn't you?" Merlin moved toward the metal bars and stared accusingly. "The very first thing you do after you're sent back in time is alter the course of history in the most drastic way possible. Did you not think once of the fate of Camelot, Arthur?"

The former king raised his eyebrows and gave a disbelieving laugh. " _Really_? You're blaming _me_ for changing this kingdom's destiny, after everything that's happened? And you call me a prat - Merlin, if you've somehow forgotten, and I have my doubts that you have," he said bluntly, staring intently at the warlock, "it was _you_ in the first place who sent me back here!"

Though it was clear that Merlin was about to give a response, likely even more sardonic than the last, Arthur raised a hand and turned his head to the side. It silenced his manservant long enough for the both of them to hear footsteps.

Just as they'd registered that someone was coming downstairs, a deep voice addressed Arthur, "My nephew, the king worries of your faithfulness to your manservant."

It was Agravaine. The former king composed himself as best he could.

"I can't say that I understand what you mean," he responded, feigning ignorance.

There wasn't much to know about Agravaine. Despite the fact that Arthur was aware of his uncle's betrayal, he had no idea of just how deep it ran and how far back his deception would have applied. Exactly when had he pledged his obedience to Morgana? That, Arthur couldn't tell, and he couldn't quite confront him about it, either. Only having partial information made him feel stagnant.

"In his words," Agravaine stated. "My brother has already lost one child to the persuasive magic and superior allegiances of another. He cannot handle losing another, let alone the successor to his throne. He only wishes for you to understand where your true loyalties lie."

"I know well where my loyalties lie, uncle."

At that, Agravaine smiled tightly. "I'm sure that you do, Sire," his gaze traveled back to Merlin. "But I do hope that your apparent knowledge lets you make the right decision."

With a curt nod, the black-haired man turned to exit the dungeons. Arthur wondered in that moment just how far his devotion to Morgana ran, exactly how long he'd been against Camelot's line of rule, and if here was some way to change his mind. He was the brother to Arthur's mother, after all, and he knew his mother to be one of the kindest people he'd ever met.

Could he have been so far off, being related by blood to such a person?

For the first time since Agravaine had entered, Arthur turned to look at his manservant.

Merlin was white as a sheet, eyes dark and focused on the spot last held by Arthur's uncle. His brows were furrowed as if he were in deep thought, or if he'd somehow been caught committing a terrible crime. Arthur looked inquisitively at the sorcerer. His stare was one of a man who'd done something treasonous, or at the very least one of a man who'd accepted his own guilt.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked.

Merlin cleared his throat.

"Odd seeing a man I've killed back alive and standing, is all."

The casual confession gave Arthur a considerable amount of pause. He moved to the cell's doorway and gripped the metal gate. "...You murdered my uncle?"

"Hm?" Merlin crossed his arms and pressed his lips together, looking as if he knew he'd been caught. "Well, I - yes. I did. You...Agravaine was to kill me if I hadn't done so to him first."

Arthur nodded his head instinctively and looked to his side. He couldn't have said he was shocked, nor that he was displeased. Yet still, he reasoned, there'd been a bit of a _recognizable_ pattern. "I see," he said in a flat voice, then narrowed his eyes. "You know, Merlin? It seems to me that you're rather exceptionally good at killing my family."

Though the words were spoken without any malice or ill intent, they still stung the warlock to silence.

"And, actually," the former king continued. "Now that we're on the topic, would you mind explaining exactly what happened when...all of _this_ occurred for the first time? When my father first died? Why is it that _Dragoon the Great_ was unable to save my father, as he'd promised?"

"Morgana placed an enchantment on an amulet," the sorcerer responded immediately and off-handedly. "She had Uther wear it. It - it reversed any healing spells."

That revelation changed quite a bit.

He had a feeling that something had gone wrong, that perhaps the warlock made a mistake, or something. If that were true, it wouldn't exactly have mattered _too_ much; Arthur had already decided to forgive Merlin, in that case. And yet, the fact that there was a genuine reason for why it hadn't worked, the fact that it wasn't even partly Merlin's fault, altered his entire viewpoint.

The prince cleared his throat and looked to the side. "Seems like my family is also good at killing my family."

Merlin huffed in response and raised his eyebrows. "Your father seems one of the best at that."

"...If I didn't know any better, Merlin, I'd say that you're not quite pleased about my father being alive," he accused, no malice evident in his voice. He couldn't blame the sorcerer for seeing his father in a less than favorable light, no matter how much his instincts made him want to. Yet, the level of distaste Merlin seemed to have despite the circumstances seemed at least a bit irrational.

There were both good and bad aspects about what was happening, but Arthur thought the good was ultimately stronger. They were both together and alive. Hadn't this been what the warlock wanted in the first place?

Merlin shrugged innocently and cocked his head to the side. "Well, he _did_ try to kill everyone, yeah? That includes me. And he tried especially hard after he learned about my magic. I have a right to be _not quite pleased_ , I think."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"What?" he responded, beginning to get angry. The irritated outburst surprised Merlin, as well as somewhat offended him. "Arthur, I'm not about to blame you for having a glorified view of your father, but even you should know that he tried with all of his power to kill us. He tried to kill _you_ before I stopped him!"

To his confusion, the former king began to shake his head. "Not that," he replied. "My father knew about your magic before I did? Who _else_ knows? I swear, Merlin, at this point I wouldn't be shocked to find my entire kingdom knew all along, and that _I_ was the only one left in the dark."

Merlin rolled his eyes in reply. "Well, there wouldn't have been much reason to keep it secret then, now would there?"

He made a valid point, but that fact only served to annoy Arthur more.

Even though they were both able to speak to each other once more, he still felt as though everything was completely shrouded in mystery, like Merlin returning to him made no difference at all. Shouldn't he have been asking questions? And yet, he couldn't come up with the right questions to ask, or how to properly phrase them, or even if Merlin would know the answers.

Before he could come up with a decent rebuttal, or a response at all, the sound of jangling armor and loud footsteps caught his attention. He turned to see a guard readying himself for the dungeon's night watch. He was likely issued the order by the king.

Arthur knew that he couldn't say another word; at least, not one which could give away what his plan was, and completely scrapped the idea of discussing Merlin's trial. It could wait, for the moment, and he had more time to think it over. "I will speak with you later," he said simply, then turned to head for his chambers without listening for Merlin's reply.

* * *

As he walked through the halls, footsteps louder than he thought necessary, he noticed two voices.

He'd been planning to retire to his chambers for the night and see Merlin when the sun rose, first moment he could. As it was rather late, he hadn't expected to run into any person not on guard throughout the castle, let alone two. They were speaking low enough for Arthur to be unable to hear them, but he could see them fairly easily from around the corner.

Guinevere and Lancelot.

Arthur watched the two from behind the wall.

She had her fingers brushing delicately across Lancelot's arm, both smiling to each other and far too close for friends to be, in Arthur's opinion. His knight brought a hand to Gwen's shoulder and he said something, though the prince couldn't make out what, and she gave a graceful laugh. It was saddening to watch, as well as more than infuriating.

While Guinevere and Arthur were unable to be together as they were, it didn't stop the former king from being jealous. He remembered how she betrayed him in the past, how she'd taken to Lancelot when they'd first known each other, and how those feelings were rekindled after he seemingly returned from the dead. It only furthered his destroyed trust in others, at the time.

There wasn't a doubt that Guinevere was one of the best and most loyal leaders he'd ever come across. She held the kindness of a thousand angels, the warmth of a childless mother. He thought of no one who would better succeed the throne.

He also thought of none of his knights who were more loyal from the very beginning. Arthur certainly held Lancelot in high regard, thought of him as not only one of the strongest men he'd known, but one of the most true. His eyes and presence could make anyone feel trusted and safe. No matter how much Arthur wanted to hate the man, he couldn't.

Even so, Arthur was unsure if he could stand another heartbreak.

There was no doubt that he loved Guinevere. Back when Lancelot returned and she'd evidently fallen for him, Arthur found it within himself to forgive her, and their relationship grew even stronger because of it. They'd both chosen each other in the end, despite showing feelings for others in the past, and he knew that he could trust her to be loyal to him from the moment she became his queen.

And yet, he saved his father's life, and he knew that he would never be able to marry Guinevere with Uther on the throne. They would have had to work even harder at their relationship, wait even longer to make it official, and evidently through her blatant interest in Lancelot. _Alive_ , this time.

Would it have truly been worth it to go through all of that pain again?

The answer should have been an immediate yes, he _wanted_ it to be a yes, but a hint of hesitation plagued his decision.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the two hugging each other, and wished he could make out what they were saying.

A part of him wanted to confront Gwen, to pull her away from his knight, to take her in his arms and kiss her in front of Lancelot, to make clear who she was with from that moment forward and for whom her feelings would always be faithful. He had a deep desire to take her as his queen, regardless of his father's wishes, regardless of what consequences would come.

He wanted nothing more than to pull them apart, or to banish them and never see them again. Yet, he knew he would not have it in his heart to actually do it. When faced with the undeniable decision to have her executed before, he was too in love with her to see that happen. And even then, understanding that her affections were straying once again, he couldn't act upon what he knew his father would do in his place.

Instead, he left the two alone.

Once within his room, he removed the book he'd stolen from Merlin's chambers and pushed it underneath his bed.

* * *

"Julius Borden," Merlin stated, just when Arthur turned himself around the wall to face the cell.

The prince looked on, unimpressed. "Stop doing that, Merlin."

"Doing _what_?"

"Saying these nonspecific things as if I'm supposed to know what they mean, and first thing when you see me, no less," he said, waving a hand to emphasize his point. "Let's not make it a trend. Have you forgotten the word, _'hello'_?"

The sorcerer rolled his eyes, but didn't respond.

It seemed as though Merlin had been pacing back and forth for quite some time, arms crossed and fingers fidgety. There were dark circles under his constantly moving eyes, as if he hadn't even made an attempt to sleep within the dungeon. His feet were scuffed with kicked up dirt, clothes darkened and skin pale. The dramatic differences between this Merlin and the one he'd seen a few days ago must have been obvious.

Even beneath his stiff demeanor, Arthur could see that his manservant was shaking. Had he even eaten? He was alive, at least, so Arthur assumed that he had. Still, he seemed somewhat nervous about something.

The first thing the warlock had said was Julius Borden. Was that a name? It sounded like one he'd heard before, though he couldn't quite remember from where. "Who is Julius Borden?"

"The - the man who stole the part of the triskelion," Merlin responded quickly, stumbling over his words. "He wants the dragon egg for himself, for - for power. It's the same thing that happened last time; he stole the key, and he used it to open the door to the temple, and he's _probably_ on his way now to steal the egg. The more of a head-start he gets, the worse it will be for us."

The identity of the thief had slipped the prince's mind, but he began to recall the events that had previously happened. Did he ever issue a sentence on anyone for breaking into the vaults? He didn't think so.

"And?" urged on Arthur. "You know what happened to him the first time? A man like Borden cannot go unpunished."

Then came a vague expression, one that almost looked unsure. "He died," responded Merlin in a charged tone, shoulders raising undecidedly. "Of that, I know. Whether his death came from me pushing him back with magic or the temple collapsing, I can't tell you. I didn't feel it very necessary to check."

Arthur nodded, attempting not to react physically to the casual mention of magic. He figured that it was just something that he would have to get used to, despite his upbringing. It felt strange - wrong, even, in a way - but he knew that was only his father's words talking. He remembered the temple falling into itself, Merlin narrowly escaping and leaving Borden inside.

"He's only after the egg for its power," the sorcerer continued. "I cannot allow him to steal it, nor can I allow your father to have it destroyed."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, jerking his head toward his manservant. "The dragon egg was destroyed when the temple collapsed. Are _you_ trying to change the past, as well?"

"No," the sorcerer replied pointedly. " _Actually_ , I was able to protect the egg and get it out safely before it could be destroyed, so it would be an event completely faithful to our past if I did the same, now."

He _protected_ the egg? He'd lied to and disobeyed his king?

Not that it was extremely new for Merlin, but _still_.

Why had the egg seemed so important to him? The prince couldn't understand it; though, actually, he could think of a plausible reason. Dragons were rather magical creatures, and it would have made sense for the warlock to prevent their complete extinction. Beings of magic were always protective of each other. Then again, there lied one more gigantic problem.

He smiled in a non-genuine manner, feigning as if he were absolutely fine going along with the plan. "Right, yes, though I have a question for you, Merlin. How do you propose you'll be able to get it in the first place? You're a bit _locked up_ right now."

"That's simple," Merlin responded. "I'm going to break out of here once night falls and pursue Borden, and I will take the dragon egg from him."

The prince began to shake his head, staring at his manservant as if he'd lost his mind. "Merlin, of all of the absolute moronic ideas you've had in the past, I have to say, you've truly outdone yourself with this one. You break out and you'll have my men on your back and my father wanting your head even more than he does now. How can this be so important to you that you'd risk _everything?"_

The dark look in Merlin's eyes told tales of millennia as he let out what sounded like a groan mixed with a sigh and bit the inside of his lip. "You don't need me anymore, Arthur. You are already the king that I have helped you become and I am sure that when the time comes that Uther passes, you will bring prosperity and peace to the land. I'm doing _this_ because of who I am. It is my duty."

Arthur wanted to protest on everything he'd said, wanted to say a thousand things, but he was too much in shock to think coherently enough to elaborate all of his points. He lowered his head and tightened his fists in indignation."Who you _are_ is my servant, Merlin. I will not ask you again. _How_ can this be so important?"

"I am the _last_ Dragonlord, Arthur," the sorcerer stated confidently, raising his voice to match the prince's. "It is my responsibility to make sure Aithusa is not put in the same position as before. I need to take her from Borden's hands and raise her on my own, this time."

"Aithusa?"

"The - dragon."

"You _named_ it?"

"I - " Merlin cut himself off and rolled his eyes. "This is completely off-course of our conversation. The point is that you're _not_ going to involve yourself with this, and I know that you'll want to."

While Merlin had been defiant in the past, he'd never been quite so stern in his tone and wording, as if his order was unquestionable. It might have seemed like he was a different person if Arthur had no idea who he truly was. "If I am to search for the egg and destroy it the same way I did before - and you _know_ that I will - that means I'm already involved with this. You can't change that, Merlin."

"Even so, I won't allow you to partake in what I plan to do," he responded firmly. "Do what you are ordered to, but I _will_ obtain the egg, and I'm going to do it without anyone else putting themselves in harm's way."

Arthur stepped forward and stared into the sorcerer's eyes.

"All these years, Merlin, you've been forced to deal with matters of magic on your own. You've made sacrifices I've yet to fully comprehend, gotten...harmed in ways I'm completely oblivious to," as he spoke, the words came out quietly and carefully. "Merlin, I cannot allow you to go through with this alone. Borden will die, but this time, with my sword through his chest. Understand?"

" _Arthur_ \- "

The former king cut him off, narrowing his eyes. "No," he said firmly. "Your hands will not be stained with his blood again. He has threatened _my_ kingdom - he should die by _my_ hand."

It was, in reality, less of a matter of having a personal grudge against the power-hungry thief. Arthur knew that Camelot was just as much Merlin's kingdom as it was his; royal honor had little to do with it. However, the sorcerer constantly made the decision to murder for the sake of others, to spot his hands with their enemies despite never receiving due esteem.

Something inside of the prince made him deeply desire to take some of that from the warlock's already heavy shoulders. Their fates were so deeply intertwined that they may as well have been two parts of the same destiny. If Merlin's spirit had already been tainted in such a way, Arthur would share in that sin.

Then begged the question of why, exactly, he felt that way.

He knew not of how often the sorcerer killed for him or for Camelot. And while Arthur himself and many of his men had no qualms taking the lives of others, thinking Merlin in the same way, putting him in that exact category, felt somewhat wrong. As if he had some sort of obligation to be directly involved in those deaths, as if he _needed_ to connect himself to them.

Was it guilt over being in the dark for so long? He decided to put it from his thoughts.

"We cannot pursue him together," Merlin stated after a few moments, throat constricted. "And your father will not have the dragon egg still intact - "

" - Which is _why_ I plan to hide it from him," he replied, cutting the warlock off.

He'd expected that to solve the issue, but the sorcerer only shook his head, as if there was something that Arthur was completely missing. "You still don't understand this at all," he said grimly. "If I allow _any_ possibility that the egg could be discovered by Uther, or that it could be destroyed, it would be my fault entirely. The fate of an entire species rests upon my shoulders and mine alone."

" _Merlin!_ "

Before he could continue with his objection, the warlock went back to pacing across his cell, gaze purposefully avoiding the prince. It was clear that the issue was no longer up for discussion.

Without another word, Arthur stormed from the dungeon.

* * *

"He said that he is _'the last Dragonlord.'_ Am I to find that funny? Who does he think he's talking to?"

As Gaius was the only one who'd actually known of Arthur's situation - _other_ than the person he was currently complaining about - he promptly stomped to the physician's home and began ranting. Merlin had been difficult in the past, but he was almost never quite _this_ difficult. Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true, but that didn't make the prince any less annoyed.

The physician hummed in hesitation.

Arthur walked back and forth as the older man continued to write on a leaf of paper, only stopping on his tracks when he would go off on another tangent. "I was _there_ when the last Dragonlord gave up his life. What could he possibly be talking about? My father did what he could to eliminate the Dragonlords - how could _Merlin_ be one of them?"

Again, Gaius let out a sound of unease. He seemed to be pressing down harder on his pen, the longer Arthur spoke.

Explaining to the physician that Merlin, too, was back, turned out easier than he'd thought. He still couldn't explain how it happened, exactly what magic was used, but he knew that he could get those answers later. There was a brief moment that Arthur could see something in Gaius, a sort of want to see the man he'd come to consider a son, but he knew that he couldn't.

The former king pulled at his hair and gritted his teeth. Not once had Gaius replied to his ranting, though he figured that was only to let him get all of his pent up frustration out as quickly as possible.

"How can he think that he's alone in this? He's acting as if _he's_ a dragon, or - or something. Merlin thinks that it's completely _his_ responsibility to make sure that the dragon egg is kept safe," he rolled his eyes and stretched his arms out dramatically. "Is he an idiot? Well - _that_ , I know, but what could have made him feel this way? Is it just because he saved it before?"

Gaius looked down and sighed.

 _Something_ was clearly wrong.

Was the physician withholding information from Arthur? The thought only made him more irritable. "What's wrong with you? Do you know something that I don't?" his voice became certain, realization lacing it. "You - you _must_ , you were the one who pointed us to the Dragonlord in the first place!"

Even before Arthur's sentence ended, the physician began to look anxious. He opened his mouth once to say something, then closed it, as if he were about to deliver horrible news to the prince and had no idea of how to word it. Whatever it was that he could have possibly needed to say, Arthur couldn't expect it to be so bad that he didn't want to hear, and he waved a hand for the older man to get on with it.

"Balinor _was_ the last Dragonlord, Sire," Gaius said bluntly. "Now, Merlin is."

Though it sounded straightforward, the meaning behind it felt cryptic.

That couldn't have been right. Merlin wasn't a Dragonlord - well, Arthur didn't _think_ he was, anyway. Still, it would have made no sense for him to be.

He remembered back to the stories his father told him of the Dragonlords, of their fearsome powers and their legacies. They controlled the dragons, terrifying and terrible creatures bent only on destruction, their abilities too dangerous and too powerful to continue existing. It was the reason Uther had used to kill them, that if they were to all die out, they wouldn't come back.

Arthur asked once why that was, why another Dragonlord couldn't be born again after they've all died, and he recalled the response. The title of Dragonlord not necessarily earned, but passed down from father to son. It had all to do with their lineage, and if they were killed, no more would _ever_ exist.

And then, it clicked.

"His father," Arthur's shoulders dropped, his back sliding against the wall. "The Dragonlord was his father."

The physician nodded, expression somber.

It explained much more than Arthur even had questions for. Why Merlin was so emotional at the man's death - oh, Hell, all that Arthur _said_ \- and why Gaius even knew the man in the first place, it all added up. An immense mountain of guilt came crashing down on Arthur and moved his gloved hands to cover his face. That also told him why, exactly, Merlin felt such a need to save the dragon egg.

The last Dragonlord and the last dragon egg. Of _course_ Merlin would have wanted to save the damn thing, and felt it worth his life. It was his legacy, one of his many purposes in life. It finally made sense, though he still didn't like it.

His father attempted years ago to murder every one of the Dragonlords, fearing their power to be too close to sorcery. And if he'd completely succeeded, Merlin wouldn't have existed. That, and Camelot would have been destroyed completely. Arthur wondered about Gaius, of his connections to Merlin and to Balinor, and of his connection to the king. They appeared to greatly contradict themselves.

It seemed as though Gaius had quite the affiliation with magical creatures.

He crossed his arms and attempted to choose his next words cautiously, not wishing to offend Gaius in any way. "Do you use magic?"

Gaius paused his writing and looked up, gaze weary. Likely, he was considering his choices in how to respond, wondering if telling the truth was his best course of action. "I did," he said hesitantly, then proceeded to clarify, "I do."

"Thought so," Arthur replied quietly.

The older man's face became suspicious, though only slightly. "I imagine that you don't intend to inform Uther of this."

"Of course not. Though, I've come to wonder something," he said, speaking as carefully as he could. "My father banned sorcery, and you were there when that happened. You - you even became his Court Physician. Why did you not decide to leave?"

Gaius seemed to be thinking deeply about his answer and placed his pen down on the table. "Camelot is my home. It _was_ my home. I was not prepared to give up my entire livelihood when your father outlawed magic," as he spoke, a certain level of hurt laid evident in his voice. "And...I was not prepared to give up my friendship with Uther, at the time. I was rather devoted as a young man. Perhaps blindly so."

It made no sense to Arthur, even through those justifications. "You are loyal to my father, yet he destroyed a people you belonged to," he said in a disbelieving tone, unable to understand.

The older man pursed his lips together and turned his head to the side. "My...recent history with Uther may have done away with whatever personal relationship we two had," he explained. "Even so, he is the king of Camelot, and I remain loyal to him."

"Then you are loyal out of obligation," accused Arthur. His face then shifted, something like nervousness overtaking it. "Is...is _Merlin_ loyal to me out of obligation?"

"...There are many reasons for why Merlin is loyal to you, Sire," Gaius replied, attempting to reassure the former king in some way. "He does not _just_ consider you a prince to serve, or a brave man to help shape into a king, but he also sees you as a dear friend, and even beyond that. Your destiny and his are connected. They always have been."

"Since the day we met," Arthur continued for him, remembering his friend's words.

Just before Gaius returned to his writing, he nodded. "Since the day you met."

* * *

"We are to depart for the tomb of Ashkanar as soon as my knights ready our supplies," the prince said, leaning one shoulder against the wall and facing the cell door.

Merlin nodded. He appeared entirely closed off from Arthur; arms crossed, turned away, eyes averted. He seemed absolutely dejected, though the prince couldn't pinpoint any one reason for it. "I am to depart soon, as well. Don't think your head start will stop me from arriving earlier than you," he said, though his flat tone didn't give the words the challenging bite they might have otherwise had.

He wanted to argue, he wanted to tell him not to go, but knew that he couldn't change the warlock's mind. Merlin was dead-set on breaking out of his prison and capturing that egg for himself, and Arthur could see why.

All things considered, especially his title as a Dragonlord, Merlin's actions made perfect sense, and it was hard to fight against them.

Still, he'd wanted more than anything else for Merlin not to go through with it. They'd only just been reunited with each other and Arthur wasn't ready to separate yet again; he had too many words he wanted to say, too many subjects to discuss and too many things to apologize to or thank Merlin for.

He had to come up with something to change the sorcerer's mind, or to at least make it so they didn't have to be apart from each other. There must have been some sort of other decision.

Arthur tried to wrap his brain around the situation entirely, to come up with some sort of out which could satisfy the both of them. He thought about waiting for Merlin to escape and joining him. Except, even if that were an option, physically speaking, his father would brand him a traitor and Merlin might begin to _genuinely_ resent him for likely giving up the throne.

That couldn't happen.

Could he break Merlin out early and have him join the knights' trek without anyone noticing? That didn't seem a possibility, nor did it seem like something either of them would want to take the risk for. It had essentially the same repercussions as the last plan.

"You visit this boy rather often."

Three men walked down the stone stairs and Arthur turned around, coming face-to-face with his father. On either side of him were two of his personal guards. Arthur looked on impassively "He was my manservant, father. I was only informing him of the fact that I will be leaving soon, and for what purpose."

"Yes," Uther turned to look Merlin in the eyes, smiling humorously. "I'm sure the sorcerer will be devastated to know that the last of magic left in Camelot will be destroyed before the next day comes."

The prince wanted to glower at his father, wanted to tell him to stop, but knew that he couldn't. It was true. Merlin would be devastated if the egg was destroyed, even moreso than the king thought he'd be, and he looked to that in a hilarious light rather than a tragic one. Arthur wanted his manservant to go with him, but knew that he couldn't, and -

 _Wait_.

That gave Arthur an idea.

"Father," Arthur said quickly and suddenly, having just come to his conclusion. "This - I believe that I've come up with a proposal for the _perfect_ opportunity to prove my manservant's loyalty to your kingdom - and to you."

If he was careful and convincing enough about this, he could earn his father's approval, believing the rapidly formulated idea to be the best possible outcome.

At the very least, the king seemed interested, or willing to hear out his idea. "What do you propose?"

He hesitated before answering, still unsure if it would actually work out in his favor. But then, he had no other favorable choice. "I want Merlin with me and my men on our journey. If Merlin is truly faithful to you and to our kingdom, he will help us destroy the egg and rid Camelot of what magic remains in it. Should we succeed, I want his charges of sorcery dropped."

"I will not allow a _sorcerer_ to walk freely among my son and my knights - "

Before his father could become too angry with him, Arthur cut him off with a short laugh. "Father, I assure you that if anything were to go awry, your knights and I would be more than able to defend ourselves against my _manservant_."

Evidently, devaluing Merlin's true strength turned out the right decision. Uther's face turned conflicted, then inquisitive. "...And if you fail to return to me with news of the egg's destruction?"

"In that case," doing his best not to look at Merlin, he stared intently at his father and gestured toward the cell. "You may do with him what you please and I give my word not to interfere."

It was a risky move, but one he was willing to make. He perhaps hadn't thought the entire plan through, but it seemed a better alternative to what would have happened if he'd done nothing. Arthur certainly preferred it over having to deal with Merlin leaving.

He watched Uther's expression, saw his internal struggle as he warred with himself on what the correct decision should be.

"Very well," the king finally said with a wave of his hand. He then turned to one of his guards. "Let the boy out. He will embark with my men as soon as possible."

 _Very well_ , he'd said. His father agreed to it.

After Uther gave the order and made his way back up the stairs, the prince let out a sigh of relief, not caring about the strange look he'd gotten from the man ordered to release Merlin. Arthur _succeeded_. He and Merlin could figure out and plan through everything else later, but because of his spontaneous idea, he made sure that they would be able to do so.

He knew that he needed to finish packing his things for the journey ahead, knew that they needed to give Borden as little of a time advantage as possible, so he made his way to the steps.

The sound of keys hitting each other and scraping against metal made Arthur turn his head. The guard his father had left was opening the cell door, just as he'd been told to do.

Arthur looked only once to Merlin's unreadable expression before leaving the dungeon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, uh, THAT was a long break!
> 
> Yeah, I kind of stopping writing for a while, mostly for school reasons. Super sorry for that! It's been a bit since I've touched this story, but I'm still invested in it, and thank you for being patient with me!

The true gravity of what he'd done hadn't really hit Arthur until he closed the doors to his chambers.

It wasn't as if he'd regretted any of it, but there was something within him that sent the ghost of dread down his spine. Perhaps he didn't think the plan through. Well, he'd already acknowledged that he didn't think the plan through, and that _still_ wasn't a deterrent.

Perhaps he'd been a _bit_ impulsive.

Something akin to guilt flooded his senses as he approached his unmade bed. He felt _bad_ about having made such a decision for the both of them and for putting Merlin's life even more at risk than it already had been, but not to the point of genuine remorse. He even then could not for the life of him find a better alternative.

Still.

There was enough already hanging upon his and Merlin's shoulders and Arthur succeeded in adding even more.

Not helping was the fact that Merlin had looked absolutely _livid_.

Well, Merlin looked livid in that unclear and silent and tight-lipped way that Arthur was only beginning to associate with anger from the prince's own lack of comprehension. He wondered if the warlock had any decent sort of reason for making a plan to just _leave_. Yet, honestly, Arthur had a feeling that he wouldn't really have cared even if there _had_ been a decent reason.

He'd have still been pissed.

When Arthur checked his travel supplies, he was surprised to see that they'd all been packed. Merlin had beat him to his own quarters in the time that Arthur had gone to inform his men of their journey's new addition. Either that, or his father had sent someone else to assemble everything for him.

They were to be departing within the next few hours.

Was Merlin upset with him? The very thought nearly made his blood boil. The sorcerer would have had no right. If anything, _Arthur_ had more than enough reason to be upset with _him_ , but it wasn't as if he knew everything. He didn't know what Merlin was thinking - _couldn't_ know - and it left him feeling helpless and entirely out of control, despite him making a dramatic decision for the both of them.

Most of him wanted to run out to meet with the warlock, to demand answers out of him. Of course, Arthur knew that he couldn't do that, knew that he would've had too much to say. He also didn't want to add any more suspicion onto Merlin than that which already existed.

A multitude of questions were running through his mind, so many that he wasn't even sure where to begin.

But before he could confront Merlin, he wanted to give the sorcerer ample time to speak to Gaius and to collect himself.

* * *

The first thing that Merlin did when he saw Gaius was hug the man.

Last the sorcerer remembered seeing him, he'd been under the impression that it would have been the final time.

"Well, you're certainly happy to be home," the man said knowingly.

As expected, Merlin went to the most logical excuse he could think of and gave a tense smile, one he made a failed attempt to pass off as relaxed. "Well - yes. Nice to see walls not belonging to a dungeon and all that."

The older man nodded slowly.

He firmly pat Merlin's shoulder. "I am aware of your... _predicament_ , Merlin. Arthur has explained it to me in full."

It seemed as though those words unblocked a current.

Merlin's face turned to an unmatched grimness and his shoulders fell. He let out a sigh, unsure of whether it was one of relief or exasperation. He'd immediately taken down the wall he attempted to build on his way to the physician and, though he felt a small bit happy at knowing that he wouldn't have to keep another secret, that emotion was overshadowed by a million others.

Gaius shook his head.

He didn't want to pry at a clearly emotionally vulnerable Merlin, one who'd spent recent time in a dungeon and had _clearly_ made a terrible mistake. Yet still, he needed to understand. He had to know what possessed the younger man into doing something so reckless. "Merlin, what were you _thinking?_ " he asked, a mix of concerned and exasperated.

As if expecting this response, Merlin huffed in indignation. "I _wasn't_ thinking, that's the issue - it's - it's not as if I _knew_ what I was doing, Gaius. It wasn't as if I'd ever _done_ anything like that."

Silence filled the air momentarily.

"...You're telling me you'd _never_ done time magic before you sent Arthur back?" rather than furious, Gaius sounded incredulous, as if he _genuinely_ couldn't believe that Merlin could have done something so idiotic, and that he didn't even consider such a thing before Merlin had told him. "The effects such irresponsible magic could have on him are unpredictable!"

At first, Merlin didn't understand what he specifically was upset about. "What - what do you mean? Effects?"

His confusion only seemed to frustrate Gaius more. "Magic cast on the spirit is very dangerous, Merlin - _especially_ on one which has already left its body. Have you _no_ idea what repercussions this could bring on Arthur's soul?"

"I - I understand that it was irresponsible; everyone's already told me that!" the sorcerer snapped at his mentor, pacing about the room. "I - I made - a _grave_ mistake during a time that I was...over-emotional, and no longer in my right mind. I'm _aware_ of this. What I _don't_ understand is what this means for Arthur's destiny - for - for _my_ destiny - for _everyone's_ destinies!"

The outburst seemed to calm the older man down.

He pursed his lips and slowly sat himself down at the table.

He spoke in a lower voice, attempting to give _some_ solace to the warlock. "You needn't worry about fate. You aren't the first magic-user to attempt a drastic change to a prophecy. Destiny _will_ correct itself; I'm sure of it, Merlin."

Merlin stopped pacing and uncrossed his arms, expression becoming even more distraught. "What does that mean? Destiny will correct itself - so - so, what, Arthur is just going to die _anyway?_ "

"...I cannot be certain of what fate has in store for him," the other man stated solemnly. All of Gaius's anger turned to pity and sympathy. "All I know is that even the most powerful of sorcerers have not been able to change destiny on their own. Those of the Old Religion dictate fate. Mere men - even _powerful_ men - cannot match that. You must know this, Merlin."

He _did_ know that, but he didn't want to admit it.

Then again, Arthur was meant to die in that moment by Mordred's hand, and Merlin was able to change that. Perhaps that was only in the moment. Perhaps Mordred was destined no matter what to kill him, whether that came at that moment or at another. Still, if that had been the case, why did so many act as if he'd altered fate? Why had Kilgharrah been so outraged?

He had no way to be certain.

If Merlin was certain of one thing, it was that he needed to protect Aithusa.

"I have to grab my things," the sorcerer said, voice suddenly soft and weak. He passed by the man to his room and shut the door.

* * *

They took off midday.

Even as he was saddling and climbing onto his horse, Arthur couldn't stop himself from staring at Merlin, wishing they had a chance to speak with each other alone. The sorcerer seemed to be very adamant in making it his mission to _not_ look at Arthur, trying to seem more interested in tying up his belongings than any normal man should have been.

The prince averted his eyes, only to be met with the faraway gaze of Gwen.

His mind suddenly blanked of anything other than her.

He wished he could have seen Guinevere off properly, kissed her goodbye, told her he loved her, but he couldn't. The most he could offer her was a tender smile and a wave from afar. He couldn't have provided his soon-to-be wife with the affection he knew they both needed. And ultimately, that was all his fault.

In the end, he recognized that their best case scenario was to hide their relationship, to stifle it until the day in which Uther would ultimately pass and they would be able to join themselves together. If they were able to stay true to each other for that long, they were to wait for Gwen to become the queen to rule over Camelot, wait until she could have been accepted as his wife.

A large part of him wondered if they were able to do that.

He promptly decided to put the worry from his mind.

As they departed, Arthur grabbed his manservant tightly by the arm and slowed both their horses down. He leaned in next to Merlin's ear and spoke in a low voice as the knights rode ahead. Just before he said anything, Gwaine looked back for just a moment, raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and shrugged his shoulders before turning his attention forward.

"We know exactly where Borden is going," Arthur finally said in a leveled tone. "He won't have the advantage of time, now."

The only reply Merlin gave was a slight nod, extremely faint and difficult to make out as the horse's movements shifted his torso. He didn't even look at the prince, nor did he give any other signal of acknowledgement. Instead, his ride slowed down, and he began to lag behind on purpose. Arthur sped up to the front, focusing his energy on which direction Borden had been going.

There was a certain hesitation in Merlin's eyes. The thought distracted Arthur from the mission at hand, if only temporarily. It was clear that the sorcerer had more to say, but was purposefully refraining from doing so.

That meant Merlin was without a doubt ignoring him.

If Arthur absolutely loathed anything, it was being ignored.

It wasn't often that the prince was neglected, especially by his manservant. And the possible reasons for why that was only made Arthur more irritated, pushing his desire to speak with Merlin further from his mind. At the same time, he couldn't have felt more inclined to.

He wondered if he could get more of a response from Merlin if he tried provoking the man.

He wondered if trying was even a good idea.

* * *

They'd found Borden's camp within only a couple of hours. It thankfully seemed as though the man wasn't too far ahead of them.

It turned out that their previous knowledge had been proven useful and saved them some time. While Merlin's silent intuition raised some eyebrows among the group, none of the knights attempted to question Arthur when he'd inexplicably ridden his horse in a specific direction, looking as if he'd known where he was going despite them all being fully aware of how little information they had.

Every time the knights simply went along with whatever Arthur did or said, it made him think of how his manservant would always question him, would always manage to be defiant. He tried his hardest to make sure that Arthur would never get away with anything free of a sarcastic comment or a snarky inquisitive look.

The desire to provoke Merlin suddenly increased tenfold.

He raised his head up to the dim sky.

"Night approaches. We must rest," Arthur suggested aloud. Just as he'd expected, Merlin's shoulders hiked up.

The sky was indeed beginning to darken, and primarily for the reason that Arthur was purposefully matching the pace that he'd originally gone. As the other knights began to set their camp, the warlock shifted himself to Arthur's side, speaking hastily under his breath. "You said it yourself - we _know_ where Borden is going. If we wish to retrieve the egg, we need to beat him there."

"Curious, I was under the impression that you were _ignoring_ me," the prince said pointedly. "And what happened to not changing the past, Merlin?"

"I believe we're a bit late to be worrying about that," Merlin hissed in an irritated tone. "Borden has the Triskelion. We have a better chance waiting for him than meeting him there."

The argument made sense, all things considered, but practicality and logic weren't about to get in the way of Arthur's pride. He rolled his eyes and gave a humorless smile. "Well, why don't you go on your own, then? That _was_ your plan in the first place," he said spitefully, giving a hard pat to Merlin's shoulder and walking toward Elyan, who'd been busy working to set up the cauldron.

As expected, the sorcerer didn't follow him.

The dark blue tint over the sky turned to a black blanket. After Merlin had finished the stew and served everyone, he retreated to a tree near the horses. It was just close enough for no one to mention anything, but far away enough to keep himself at a considerable distance. It was obviously to get away from Arthur, though he was being stealthy enough to not make it seem obvious.

Eyes focused on the moon, the prince stood and moved himself to rest across from the warlock. He stared silently at the other until Merlin finally made eye contact, then the former king spoke. "Surprised the night's been predictable, after everything?"

"I'm only surprised you're allowing me to eat," Merlin stated, clearly avoiding the question.

"You can blame Lancelot for that," Arthur replied. He attempted to keep the bite from his tone. "Told us we should save some for you."

"I will be sure to thank him, then."

If Merlin somehow wasn't aware of the watered-down disdain Arthur currently held for his knight, he'd been doing a damn good job of acting otherwise.

There was a burning need in his brain to know what Merlin was thinking, a deep desire to see if the idea of running away was still on his mind. It was hard to feel tired with that still in his worries. He couldn't have the sorcerer stay with him all the way up to the tomb, only to see Merlin walk away with the egg. The notion that the warlock could leave him of his own volition _had_ to be out of the question.

He opened his mouth to ask.

Percival sat next to the sorcerer, followed by Gwaine on the other side. Soon enough, the rest of the knights had joined them by the horses.

It hadn't fully registered that they were no longer alone - relatively speaking - until Gwaine started to talk. "That's the most serious face I've seen on your manservant here, Arthur," he said, grabbing the sorcerer's shoulder and giving him a shake.

"Oh, try not to be too rough with him," Percival joked, giving the other knights a faux-cautious look. "Might blast you away with his _magic_."

Both Merlin and Arthur tensed up.

It seemed neither of them took into account that the others would have learned of Merlin's situation, though it immediately became apparent that it should have. Of _course_ Uther would have told them why they were there, besides their mission for the egg. The king had been so concerned for the safety of his knights that the idea he'd let them go on a journey without the knowledge that someone in their vicinity may be a sorcerer was, of course, ludicrous.

As the former king absently ate, he leveled his voice and said flatly, "Merlin doesn't have magic."

The prince's tone was serious and firm.

To his surprise, Leon shook his head and pat Arthur's shoulder. "Think we don't know that, Sire? We've got to find the dragon's egg. All that with Merlin - that's all just a formality, init?"

"Yeah," pointing his spoon at Arthur, Gwaine grinned. "Hope you don't tell your father I said this, but I've started thinking his age is showing."

The rest of the knights laughed. Both Merlin and Arthur joined in, though theirs were strained.

Shaking his head, Leon looked to the prince. "I'm sure that if your manservant was a magic-user, you'd know. Besides, gotta have someone cook, feed the horses, wash the cauldron - I know none of _us_ are too keen on that," he said, looking around to the others. "Hope this can all blow over once that egg is destroyed."

It suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted from Arthur's heavy back.

Somehow, the concept that his knights had more faith in him than in their king didn't make him as discontented as it likely should have. The nonchalant mention of destroying the egg hadn't even deterred him.

"Yes," the former king stated, ignoring the stare he could feel Merlin burning into him. "I hope so, too."

* * *

Merlin couldn't sleep.

His eyes glazed over the stars within the darkened sky. They reminded him vaguely of guiding lights, though he found little solace in them. He felt restless and exhausted at the same time. To be entirely accurate, he was emotionally drained.

And more than that, he felt empty.

Some part of Merlin felt cut off from his magical brethren. He'd destroyed an entire timeline, relatively speaking, and took his own life in an attempt to fix the mess he'd made. Though he technically didn't die, suicide of any form was still heavily frowned upon among his people; well, among _any_ people, really. Merlin was also equally too afraid and ashamed to face Kilgharrah, unsure of what could await him.

On top of that, he'd felt entirely out of control.

He turned to his side and observed Arthur's sleeping form. Gaius's words repeated in his brain.

 _Were_ there any dangerous side-effects on Arthur's soul as a result of Merlin sending it back? It was certainly on the top of his list of worries.

And of all that he'd worried about, Uther's life had also definitely been one of his deepest concerns. He'd been mulling over that particular issue in his mind even more. The longer Camelot went without Arthur as king, the more danger they were all in. And Arthur - the _dolt_ \- he'd saved his father and never considered what that meant for the kingdom's future.

No part of Uther gave Merlin any hope for magic in Camelot, and Aithusa was his only real chance of reconnecting with the only part of his life he'd ever had a genuine place within. There was no way he could have allowed Kilgharrah to watch over her again - not after letting her become injured; both physically and mentally.

Of course, there was no sure way for Merlin to safely raise a dragon within Camelot's walls, and he'd already been placed under intense scrutiny from the King. Even knowing this, it seemed Arthur was completely adamant on keeping Merlin by his side. The sorcerer would have been flattered if he hadn't been so busy being frustrated out of his mind.

Part of him wanted to blame Arthur for all of it, wanted to be upset with the future king for destroying fated events, but it wasn't his fault. For all Merlin took it out on him, it still wasn't his fault. And while Merlin was angry, he couldn't have said that his anger was directed at the prince.

More accurately, he was angry with himself.

Destiny was forever altered and it was completely his doing.

He wanted to leave the forest, wanted to find Borden and kill the man for a second time, wanted to drag himself into the tomb and take the egg, then run away and raise Aithusa on his own. When he originally formulated that plan, it seemed to be his only chance to retain one of the most important parts of his life. A chance to do at least _one_ thing right.

Except at the moment, when he'd explained himself, it was clear that he'd have been upsetting Arthur if he went through with it. He didn't realize this until the former king became so determined to keep the warlock by his side.

He also didn't realize until that moment just how much he wanted to avoid disappointing Arthur.

And because of that, he was more lost than ever.

As he stared up at the night sky, he could feel the eyes of the Druids silently judging him.

Merlin was alone. Merlin had always been alone, but it hit him hardest in that exact moment.

* * *

"East."

It was the first word out of Arthur's mouth after everyone had awoken and gathered their belongings. He looked back at Merlin, just for a minute, and saw the sorcerer saddling the horses, darkness lining his eyes. It gave him a bit of reassurance to know that he wasn't the only one unable to rest.

Gold lined the leaves, sky a gorgeous mix of light blue and yellow. The beauty of the early day did not feel as though it fit what was to come. In his current state, however, it was hard for Arthur to tell _exactly_ what would happen, even if they were in the past. Despite how all of the events that were to take place technically already had, too much had changed for him to know for sure.

Though, that _was_ for the most part his own fault.

"We're headed East, ah? Glad someone knows where we're going," Elyan said under his breath. Though with the silence of the forest, everyone else could hear it.

For their personal relationships and for all the times the knights would be familiar with him, they often avoided questioning Arthur's apparent knowledge, regardless of whether it made any actual sense or not. It might have been a result of authoritative respect.

Of course, Merlin didn't have _any_ of that.

Arthur stares ahead, counting the steps it would take for them to get to their destination.

Just a moment, and they would be approaching the near-empty clearing, and the darkened cave.

In his opinion, Merlin had gone through _enough_ caves in his recent time. Not as if they had much of a choice, of course.

During their short journey to the cave, Merlin tried his damnedest to recall the events that originally took place afterward, which angle Borden decided to come at them from, how long it took him to find them. All of his calculations were more or less rendered useless, because he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything other than what Arthur would inevitably do.

In fact, Arthur was generally very distracting, and quite frankly made devising a plan for murder rather difficult.

"You're sure this is the way, Sire?" Leon asked incredulously, staring at them.

Merlin watched passively as Arthur opened his mouth to reply. Right then, something flickered in the corner of his eye, just before he or Arthur could have suggested that they check inside of the cave.

Fire.

A small, moving light source shone through the cave, and holding it was a man's figure.

The sorcerer ran a hand threw his hair. He didn't take into account that their lack of aimless wandering while looking for which direction the man was going. Before, they'd been several hours behind, as Borden already know the way to go. Of course, this time, they were far ahead of schedule.

Immediately, Merlin realized that the light coming from the cave _had_ to have been him. Borden. The damn thief didn't get as much of a head-start as he'd clearly intended to have. Unfortunate for him.

"There," the prince said lowly, instinctively putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

They didn't have the option of being quiet. Unfortunately, a knight's armor was _not_ made for stealth. That, alongside the fact that they were all donned this way, caused the sound of their movement to rapidly fill the air as they began tailing the man ahead. Once the sound reached Borden, he stopped on his tracks and sharply inhaled, then broke into a sprint.

At least, he _tried_ to, before a pile of rocks rolled directly to his feet, sending him to the ground. Out of habit, Merlin looked around to ensure no one had noticed where they came from.

Both Gwaine and Elyan quickly worked themselves behind the fallen man, blocking off any possible route of escape. The former let out a humorous sigh. "Looks like you enjoy making our job easier for us, eh?"

"Julius Borden," Arthur's booming voice echoed across the walls as he held his sword steadily, pointed dangerously close to Borden's neck. "You have stolen an artifact from a royal family and are attempting further theft of an outlawed creature. Are there other crimes you may wish to admit to?"

The man gritted his teeth, wide-eyed and staring hatefully at the prince as he refused to respond. His head was clearly spinning with ideas of how to possibly get out of the situation, and he glanced across the other knights, as well as to the warlock.

 _He also stole from the Druids_ , Merlin thought to himself defensively, but he bit his tongue and stayed quiet. No sense in bringing _that_ up.

"...You - you don't understand the power the dragon could bring," Borden breathed out, desperate to grab Arthur's interest, knowing full well that his life was on the line. "No man could hope to stand against a ruler with one at his side. Surely, you must know that."

Merlin had to stop himself from laughing.

How the man thought he could sway Arthur to his own power-hungry ideals was beyond the sorcerer. For all of Arthur's arrogance and several ignorant tendencies, the soon-to-be king could never have been described as _power-hungry_. Then again, it wasn't as if Borden could have known much of anything about a prince of a kingdom he'd held such contempt for.

"Your knights would do well to know it, too," the man stated in a low voice.

Before he could finish his proposition, a short grunt was torn from Borden as Arthur's sword roughly struck through his abdomen.

Merlin let out a breath as Borden took his last.

His eyes were ripped from the slowly fading life of the man, torch slipping onto the ground of the cave, as Gwaine whistled and crossed his arms. "Wasn't too smart, now, was he?"

 _That wasn't entirely true_ , Merlin thought as he considered the man. It wasn't as if he'd been unintelligent, rather that both Merlin and Arthur had the advantage due to his knowledge, though the warlock had no interest in mentioning this. He walked forward and took the still-lit flame, eyeing the rest of the cave and listening to the distant sound of running water.

Arthur moved forward, stepping around Borden's unmoving body. "I imagine he has the Triskellion on his person. Merlin, retrieve it."

The sorcerer rolled his eyes as the prince and his knights trekked ahead.

He moved to kneel down to the lifeless body, Borden's eyes glossy and wide. Merlin had seen dead bodies before, held them in his hands, though he hadn't often needed to search one. He remembered back when he'd given the man a chance, when he thought they could have saved Aithusa together, that Gaius was wrong for judging him so harshly, but that had ultimately ended with anguish in every single way possible.

His hands searched the dead man's belongings, feeling the familiar shape of the Triskellion, and he removed it carefully.

"Well," he started with a short shrug and a huff, "if it wasn't him, it would've been me. Probably got the best of the two, at least."

With that, he stood and left Borden to lay in the middle of the cave.

The water running down his face was refreshing, in a way.

It also managed to wash the blood off of Arthur's blade, he noticed as he exited. Blood that _should_ have been on Merlin's hands.

"There you are," the prince stated from the path ahead. "Thought you might've gotten lost."

Merlin pointedly ignored him as the knights laughed, clearly disappointing Arthur.

As the trees slowly left their sights, the towering tomb came into view in the distance. Somehow, Merlin had forgotten just how incredible the tall structure had been. Of course, it had been littered with traps and dangerous obstacles, but he realized just how little he'd really seen of the building, as well as how beautiful the creation before the fall was.

It was a shame that such beauty would inevitably come crashing down.

* * *

Black legs tapped on the wooden table.

The spider stepped on and between the woman's fingers, taken from its web and exploring throughout each inch of the small cabin.

Morgana felt the gentle presses into her hand like tiny pins brushing against her skin and observed with passive interest.

She remembered when the sight of a black widow would ignite a level of nervousness and unease in her gut. She wouldn't often see them, clean as the castle she once lived in was. And though she'd never necessarily been afraid of spiders, they certainly made her uncomfortable. That was back when she was reluctant to accept her role, when she'd been ignorant of life's importance.

A High Priestess of her caliber is made to be heavily connected to the spirit and body, the understanding and control of life itself, of all Earthly souls. Such was the nature of her part, of a servant to the Triple Goddess.

Each finger swayed as she held the widow in the air. They then arched upon her stack of books and the spider crawled slowly onto the old leather.

The door opened, sudden sound causing the black widow to scurry off.

Morgana directed her distasteful gaze at Agravaine. Her words held only contempt as she spoke. "Beloved uncle, I trust you've good reason to see me."

"Indeed I do, My Lady," he responded with a short and respectful bow, hands folded behind his back. "It seems...that Arthur's manservant has been put on trial."

 _This_ caught her attention. She stared with an incredulous amusement. "Merlin? On trial?"

"Yes," he said carefully, a smile full of contempt creeping onto his face. "The king has accused him of sorcery."

* * *

Having gotten rid of their enemy, setting up camp just a ways out from the tomb seemed a safe decision.

It was a false hope that taking the life of Borden might have brought Arthur closer to Merlin, who'd been unwaveringly ignoring him as the journey had gone on. The wall of tension between the two had thankfully gone unnoticed by the knights, though it was painfully obvious to Arthur. He wanted closure, more than anything, though he had no idea of how to go about that.

Deep in thought, he stole a glance at his manservant.

...And for some reason, Merlin had been stirring the food quite hurriedly, turning his neck and darting his eyes around as if he were looking for something. I occured to the prince that Merlin hadn't once taken his eyes off the cauldron since he'd begun making their dinner.

He leaned over Merlin's shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Something peculiar about the stew?"

"Doubt you'd recall," the warlock stated passively, giving a half-shrug. "You'd all been poisoned last time."

...As a matter of fact, Arthur _didn't_ recall that. In fact, he was quite skeptical at the mere idea. He imagined that he'd have _known_ if he was poisoned. At the very least, there lied the question of exactly what would have reversed that.

"If we'd been poisoned, how - ?"

"Magic," Merlin said simply, waving the fingers on his free hand in front of the prince.

Nodding his head slowly, Arthur looked away and took a deep breath. "Of course."

Perhaps he wasn't quite as used to the casual mention of magic as he thought he'd become during his conversations with Gaius.

Once they started to all eat, Arthur made his way over to Merlin again, who'd been trying even harder to isolate himself. They sat near the horses, yet the prince hadn't tried to start a conversation that time around, mind far too focused on other things. His eyes were fixated on the knights. He'd been so captivated by his own thoughts that he'd barely even touched his stew, something Merlin seemed to have made a mental note of.

The warlock's voice cut through the silence, though only to the point of being audible to Arthur. "You've been uneasy," he said factually. "Not just about me. Something else bothering you?"

It snapped Arthur out of his trance. "'Course not."

"No?" Merlin pushed with a mix of worry and slight irritation. "You're _sure?_ "

Then, Arthur gave the thought some consideration. Perhaps something _had_ felt uneasy to him, and he had a guess as to the source. His eyes glanced over to one particular knight, one who was meant to be _dead_ , and he gave a non-committal shrug. "Might have something to do with someone who's not supposed to be here right now."

Maybe he sounded bitter or ungrateful, and he likely was being exactly those things.

"Well," the sorcerer began, tapping at the bottom of his bowl, "I'd have assumed you would be happy that he's here. Lancelot stands for much of what you love. Chivalry. Bravery. Honesty."

"Yes," Arthur agreed in an overly aggressive voice. "Seems he has a penchant for being very close to what I love."

In response, Merlin shook his head and placed the food on the ground. "Arthur, you shouldn't allow romance to get in the way of the bonds between you and your knights. Not very fitting of a king, yeah?"

"Romance," the prince began, not registering what Merlin had meant at first. In the moment, he was referring to Lancelot's friendship with the warlock - _not_ his relationship with Guinevere. He shrugged it off, as that also applied. Still, it became harder and harder to justify his jealousy on that front, because it was Arthur's own fault for pushing Gwen away.

He'd chosen his father's life over his immediate relationship with Gwen, no matter how little he'd considered that at the time, and he had to accept it. He couldn't have, with a good heart, blamed Lancelot for his own decision.

Now, on the other hand, being upset with Lancelot for pulling Merlin away from him was at _least_ a bit different.

"Well, speaking of romance," Merlin started, a cheeky grin adorning his face, though there seemed to be a spark of concern in his eyes, "I'd say the rebellious part of your relationship has gotten a bit of an extension, yeah? Doesn't seem like your father will let you and Gwen marry anytime soon."

The former king took a moment to consider what he was to say, lowering his head. The fire flickered in the reflection of his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing that marriage is not on my mind at the moment, then."

He could see the immediate protest spike on Merlin's face, head turned up rapidly.

Before the warlock could say anything, Gwaine sat himself across from them and gave a sideways smile. "That'd make two of us, Sire."

And just like that, their moment of semi-privacy was over as the other knights joined them yet again.

The conversation devolved into a recount of their love lives, though Arthur noticed that Lancelot had been exceptionally quiet throughout the whole ordeal. It was almost worse to see him refuse to acknowledge it rather than the possible alternative. Of course, Lancelot was _his_ knight, and the knights were at least somewhat aware of Arthur's infatuation with Gwen.

Perhaps the man thought it _courteous_ not to mention his own feelings. Something about it felt insulting, though Arthur couldn't pinpoint exactly what or why.

Once they'd left the pot and dishes to clean for Merlin, the rest of the knights resigned themselves to slumber, yet Arthur took a considerable amount of time laying out supplies and staring intently at the sorcerer. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but it was _completely_ due to Lancelot still being awake, and _also_ staring at Merlin.

Lancelot scanned the other sleeping men. "Get some rest," he said under his breath, giving Merlin a comforting pat on the shoulder and a firm nod to Arthur. The former king eyed Lancelot and, once he was far enough away, turned to his manservant.

"You're both rather friendly," he accused.

In response, Merlin gave a shrug. "He _is_ my friend."

"Right. Seems more like the man wants your hand."

The sorcerer smiled in jest. "What, jealous?"

Instinctively, the prince gave a disbelieving stare. He felt offended that Merlin would have even assumed that as a joke, regardless of how partially true it was.

Merlin's grin fell and he averted his eyes. "Joking," he said after clearing his throat.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, slowly shaking his head and going back to the task at hand.

They'd stayed somewhat far apart as they both proceeded to rest.

Or, at least, _pretended_ to rest, as Arthur had no intention of actually sleeping. It wasn't as if he'd needed to be at top strength come mornig. Even if he'd been acting too paranoid, that didn't matter to him. He needed to keep an eye on Merlin at whatever cost and imagined that if he'd any remaining thoughts about running off with the egg, that would have been the perfect opportunity to follow through with such a plan.

He could _not_ allow that to happen.

Moonlight washed over the land as Arthur listened to the others drift off.

* * *

Ashkanar's tomb towered over the open clearing.

As lost as Merlin had been feeling, standing in front of the giant structure amplified that feeling to a near impossible amount. He had a set of simple, short-term objectives in his mind - make it through the temple, get past the traps, retrieve Aithusa's egg, make it out of the temple - but what then? What would he even do with her? He couldn't keep a dragon in his small home.

He _definitely_ couldn't give her to Kilgharrah.

And now, he couldn't even leave, either. Merlin had been given no options, no ultimate solution. The only one he hadn't considered was refusing to say her name and keeping her forever within the egg, or at least until she was in a safe enough environment to thrive, but just how long could he manage to keep her hidden away?

The fear of what may happen next prevented him from taking that first step into the building. He took the torch out of his bag and prepared to light it.

It took him a moment to realize that there was a noise coming from the trees.

"Well," Arthur's voice filled the night air. "I imagined this would happen."

The sorcerer relaxed, having expected a threat, and rolled his eyes. "For your information, I'd done this last time, as well."

Just before Arthur could respond, or Merlin could try to convince him to go back to their camping spot, the conversation was cut off by a sound. The rushing of leaves just from where Arthur had appeared behind them caught their attention. Both snapped themselves around in a panic, only to see yet another man clad in armor.

"You won't be going alone."

Merlin's immediate defensive stance didn't go unnoticed and Lancelot, shrouded in darkness, placed his hands up.

At the sight of him, Arthur groaned and threw his hands up. "Of _course_ you're here."

"Listen, I've seen how you two are acting around each other," the words echoed within Merlin's mind, bouncing quietly off the trees. "We can't fail this mission over a quarrel between friends - I'm going into the temple, as well."

To Merlin's side, Arthur raised his hands yet again, this time in offended confusion. "How have we been _acting_ around each other?"

It was the warlock's turn to groan, utterly exasperated. He didn't have _time_ for this, knowing full well that they only had a few short hours until the sun was to rise, and abandoned his hope of telling either of them to let him enter the tomb alone. Raising a hand, he lit the torch, eyes briefly glowing golden as he spoke.

"If you're both here, we'll have to all go in," he said with a sigh. "I doubt you'll allow me to do this on my own, so let's just hurry this up."

Though Arthur flinched briefly, Lancelot started at the sorcerer, eyes shifting frantically between him and the prince. "You've," he cut himself off, looking alarmed and concerned. "You've - Merlin, you _just_ \- "

"Are you _simple?_ " Arthur demanded to Merlin, just as distraught as the knight he'd just interrupted. "You can't just _do_ that in front of whomever you wish!"

There was something ridiculously exhausting about their exclamations.

Merlin frowned and rubbed his forehead.

"You're both, no," he cut himself off and looked to Arthur, gesturing over to the knight. "He knows about my magic already, and - _yes_ , Arthur knows, as well," he finishes, looking over to Lancelot at the last part of his statement.

It seemed the revelation shocked Lancelot to the point of making him speechless. He clearly wanted to asked a hundred different questions, but he couldn't quite decide on _which_ of them he wanted to ask them to, or where to even start. More than confused at Merlin, he seemed more concerned with _how_ Arthur knew anything at all.

The prince only looked surprised for a moment, before taking on a more resigned expression. "Of course. I _was_ right from the beginning. Did he know back _then_ , too?"

" _Back_ \- Arthur, we don't have _time_ for this," Merlin responded vehemently. He then shifted his attention back to his other friend and gave him a sympathetic look. "I know this may be confusing for you - _trust me_ when I say that it is just as confusing for us. We have to finish this and get the egg to safety; _then_ , I'll explain this all to you."

Slowly, Lancelot's expression evens out. "...Had a feeling you didn't intend to have that egg destroyed," he said off-handedly. "If you'll tell me what this is all about after, we'd best get going, then."

An unspoken message passed between Arthur and Merlin as the two looked at each other sternly.

Finally, the warlock reached for the Triskellion and led the other two to the side of the tomb, climbing his way into the nearly blocked-off opening. Once he made his way into the archway, he gazed over the dim hall ahead and waited for the other two to follow. It was just as cold and uninviting as he'd remembered it being.

He pointed his torch to the left entrance just a few feet forward. "This way."

They stepped carefully, though Merlin assumed the other two only followed because _he'd_ been acting so cautious. He had no idea of exactly how many traps were within the tomb and had no intention of finding out. As soon as he turned the corner, he was met with the door, a shape identically resembling the Triskellion indented at the top.

Merlin pushed the key in place, then slowly twisted the face of the symbol before feeling the door _click_ and push itself open.

On cue, a _hissing_ jumped on the tomb walls.

"Back away," Merlin said hastily, pushing the other two behind him as the strange smoke began filling the doorway. "Back away!"

He'd completely forgotten about the smoke and felt a short burst of panic, covering his mouth and nose with his shirt. The three retreated to the end of the hallway and waited for the sound to stop. When the smoke nearly reached them, Merlin shoved a hand out and murmured a phrase Arthur was sure he'd never heard before.

Just like that, it was gone.

All of the threatening substance retreated back into the room ahead, dissipating into the air on its way.

"Safe now?" Lancelot asked, only to be met with a short nod from the warlock.

The oppressive atmosphere of the dark tomb was suffocating, despite its open space. The narrow walls leading them up into the spacious area seemed as though they'd come from a completely different structure, a totally different world. Even without the torch, light slipped through the cracks of the stone. Pillars lined each side of them, leading to a short pedestal.

There she was.

Aithusa. Just as she'd been found the first time.

To his side, Arthur eyed the egg, expression unreadable. "Funny, nearly forgot we'd never been in here last time around."

"That's the second time you've said that," Lancelot pointed out bluntly, just before Merlin could tell Arthur to keep quiet. " _Last time_ , _back then_ , you keep mentioning something about that, but what does that mean?"

Waving his free hand, Merlin shook his head. "Nothing. Ignore him."

Arthur frowned and scoffed. "And why's that, Merlin?" he asked, scorn lining his tone as he raised an arm to gesture at his knight. "You seem to trust him, don't you? May as well tell him _all_ about what you did."

"Oh, good," the warlock said, clearly exasperated with the prince as he gave a sarcastic shrug. "Gaius knows, the Cailleach knows, Kilgharrah knows, the Druids know, _now_ you want to tell Lancelot - why don't we tell the entire kingdom, while we're at it? Shout it to the sky!" Merlin turned his head to the ceiling and raised his voice, yelling out. "The great sorcerer _Emrys_ has done it; he's shattered destiny itself and brought a dead man back to life!"

Lancelot's eyebrows raised suddenly at the outburst.

The prince rolled his eyes in disdain. "Oh, are you quite _done?_ "

That seemed to let loose a river of outrage from Merlin. " _Really?_ "he asked angrily, raising his voice to a near shout. "You know, this isn't _just_ my problem, not with what you've done!"

"I _know_ that!" Arthur yelled. "Of course I know that, Merlin. The decisions I made have changed everything. You sent me back to right when my father lost his life and - what? You expected that I would stand back and _allow_ it to happen? That I would watch him _die_ again? I was given an opportunity to save the life of someone I care about and I took it. Is that not what _you_ did, too?"

The sorcerer let out a helpless breath, unable to figure out how to respond. His shoulders fell and he stepped backward as Arthur stepped forward, slowly forcing him to the west wall. "Arthur - "

"Not to mention," he began pointedly, gesturing to the uncomfortable Lancelot on the other side of the room, "that it hadn't even been my decision to save _his_ life. That was entirely your fault, do you know that?"

The knight's eyebrows shot up. " _Excuse_ me?"

Merlin held up a hand and tried to raise his voice. "Arthur, this isn't - "

"And would you like to know what I find the _most_ hilarious about all of his, Merlin?" he asked rhetorically, cutting his manservant off. "You come back, and you immediately want to leave. No explanation, no information about what you did to me or _why_ you did it. You even wanted to take the dragon and run!"

"Because she's all I have left from that part of me!" Merlin shouted back, anger bubbling within him. " _Every_ connection I have to magic has rejected and abandoned me, all because of what I did, all because I wanted to keep _you_ alive!"

Silence filled the tomb as Lancelot looked between the two, stiff with tension.

The rage in Arthur's eyes had somewhat faded. He backed away and looked to the warlock with a lost and exhausted expression. "Why?" he asked simply. "Why are you so willing to...to give up _so_ much?"

 _For me_ , he wanted to add, but refrained.

A loud sigh echoed through the room. Merlin visibly swallowed and hesitated in giving a response, running a hand through his hair and trying to collect his thoughts. It was a question he had to answer multiple times and in multiple different ways during the time of Arthur's death, and they began to replay all over again in his mind. "I've told you."

"No, no, it _cannot_ be _destiny_ ," the prince insisted. "I have doubts that I would go through what you have just for the sake of _destiny_."

The sorcerer gave a pathetic-sounding bark of laughter, one that sounded a bit too forced out to be any level of genuine. "Well, you'd be surprised at how guilty an old dragon can make you feel for not following what destiny has intended."

"...Have you really done all of this out of obligation, then?"

It wasn't often that such an extreme level of _hurt_ would appear on Arthur's face.

That expression broke Merlin's heart every time it happened. And in that moment, it seemed as though he was the one responsible for it. Did the man care that deeply about how Merlin felt? He obviously had, though it was so off-putting and unexpected that it knocked the breath right out of him.

Of course, another part of him felt complete _outrage_ at Arthur's daftness.

How could _anyone_ have even _considered_ that Merlin would have sacrificed nearly everything he'd ever cared for in his life for the safety of one man, all out of simple obligation? It felt as though it didn't even need to be said, that it was obvious. He didn't know whether to be angry that the former king had doubted him, or happy that he'd worried so much about Merlin's opinion of him.

"No," he finally protested firmly, snapping Arthur out of his temporary rut. "You already know why I do this. Fated events, whatever destiny has in store for either of us - they're no longer my concern. I am, and always will be, proud to serve you."

Before he could understand what the prince's eyes were telling him, he heard the sound of shifting rock.

Both Merlin and Arthur turned their heads to see Lancelot holding the white egg in his hands.

"Apologies," he said rather unapologetically, shrugging his shoulders. "I figured that I might as well - "

Lancelot was cut off by a loud rumbling and they all looked to the ceiling.

Suddenly snapped out of their conversation, both Arthur and Merlin looked to each other in a panicked stupor as dust started to surround them. Trying to act as fast as they could, Arthur took the egg and quickly hid it within the sorcerer's bag while Merlin hurried to grab at Lancelot's arm, pulling him down the stairs as the walls began to cave in around them and the earthquake-like shaking became increasingly louder.

Though they were sprinting to the exit, the floors beneath them shifted and fell just as quickly as they ran. They'd been lucky in that the path inside had been rather short, and that it didn't take long to make their escape.

Right after they'd all made it out, the entrance caved in behind them.

They stopped and turned back to watch the crushing collapse ensue. It felt like the entire forest was shaking, the leaves on trees brushing against each other as the ground vibrated. The tomb threw rocks and broken wall inside of itself, as if it were imploding, or like an incredible force was pushing down on it.

"What the _hell_ just happened?"

It was Leon's rapidly approaching voice alongside the numerous loud footsteps of the other knights.

"The tomb," Arthur started, out of breath more from the panic than the running, "it was a trap."

Stepping forward, Gwaine stared in amazement at the crashing building. "And the egg?"

Once they'd all gotten a chance to catch their breath, they tore their eyes away from the tomb. The three looked to each other, then to the bag, just briefly. Both Merlin and Arthur went to respond, to try and convince them that it had perished with the structure. Before either could, Lancelot opened his mouth. "Left it in there. Had to've been destroyed, too."

There was a pause as they all stared at the knight, both Merlin and Arthur included.

Then, they glanced back to Ashkanar's disturbed resting place, reduced to rubble.

"Well, takes care of _our_ job. Nothing's going to survive under all that," Leon gave a huff of laughter and pat Merlin on the shoulder. "I'm sure the King will be pleased."

Merlin gave a wry smile, clutching the bag in his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY, IT SURE HAS BEEN A LONG TIME. I'm really sorry for taking so long on this, especially considering it's more of an aftermath chapter and not a whole lot happens in it. I hadn't dropped the fic at all, I've just been taking an extraordinarily long amount of time to finish chapters lately. Hopefully I can get the next one out this lifetime.

_"Used you? Exactly how have I used you?"_

_"You don't know?" the tone was decidedly not one that a manservant should be using in regards to a prince. "Well, what about forcing my younger self to help your father live, and to help him kill a man? Or, perhaps, it's the fact that you decided to make me reveal my magic to the both of you, and that you allowed the king to lock me up in a dungeon."_

_"I had no other choice!"_

_"Didn't you?" the next words that came out of the commoner's mouth were spoken in such a matter-of-fact manner that he'd have sworn he misheard. "The very first thing you do after you're sent back in time is alter the course of history in the most drastic way possible. Did you not think once of the fate of Camelot, Arthur?"_

_"Really? You're blaming me for changing this kingdom's destiny, after everything that's happened? And you call me a prat - Merlin, if you've somehow forgotten, and I have my doubts that you have, it was you in the first place who sent me back here!"_

Agravaine had played the conversation over in his head.

It was the sole thing seeping through his veins.

He wrote the words down exactly as he remembered them three - no - _four_ times, analyzed each letter and thought and overthought a hundred scenarios, then promptly burned the parchment. He recalled his previous meals, checking in wide paranoia that he hadn't been poisoned with some hallucinogenic herb. He'd thought of the various ways he could have perhaps misconstrued what was said. Perhaps there was another explanation for what they'd been speaking of. Perhaps their words had a different meaning altogether and they were possibly talking about something, even that which was somehow more incriminating than what was already implied yet at least more in the _realm_ of plausibility. Perhaps Agravaine had stayed in the sun too long and made up the exchange altogether.

_Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps._

He resisted the urge to pace and instead focused on his steps through his way in Camelot.

It was known that Uther's judgement had been less than optimal as of late, even on top of his already trigger-happy attitude towards the possibility of sorcery within his ranks.

But _that_ conversation?

There were few conclusions he could draw from that.

Key words stuck out in his mind, yet focusing specifically on them only made his headache burn and beat.

_Reveal my magic._

_Back in time._

It made no sense.

No matter how he tried to rationalize it, there was no way that it made any amount of sense.

In the event that the boy _truly_ had magic, and that he _indeed_ manipulated time - though, in what way remained unclear even through Agravaine’s rampant thoughts and assumptions - then what could that mean, exactly? What would that have entailed for anyone, let alone for Morgana? Agravaine searched his mind endlessly for an answer, yet he could find none. Each time he attempted to find logic behind what was said, he ended up contradicting his own reasoning or debunking his own theories. He'd barely had time to process it all, even through the last couple of nights. It plagued his mind to an impossible degree.

He knew immediately that he needed to inform Morgana of the servant's trial.

When he'd brought it up to her, however...

_"Accused of sorcery?" a wry smile graced Morgana's dark and fair features. "I do hope you've brought me news other than that. We both know of Uther's tendencies - exactly what should I glean from an accusation he's made towards others countless times? On a commoner, no less. On Merlin."_

As he trudged through the hall, his feet were solid steel against the stone.

She'd dismissed him entirely.

He could barely blame her.

For just a moment, he considered telling her of the conversation he'd overheard. If it all proved true - the boy being a sorcerer, using such advanced magic as to manipulate _time_ , and _Arthur_ of all people being completely aware of it - Agravaine may have stumbled into a conspiratory nightmare, one which he could not avoid nor turn a blind eye to. A political storm was brewing right under his nose and Agravaine felt there was little he could do to stop it or even come close to understanding it. At the same time, the reveal of one who may very well be a powerful magic user seemed somewhat too convenient for the current set of events.

 _Far_ too convenient.

Really, he could already imagine in his mind's eye Morgana jumping to the possibility of this serving boy being the one she's come to fear, the source of her growing paranoia, _Emrys_. It seemed highly unlikely in Agravaine's eyes, but he could not risk her increased instability without the manservant's head already presented to her on a stake.

He needed evidence.

Above all else, he needed Merlin's life in his own hands before anything happened.

Regardless of his identity, the likely threat he posed to their cause was evident. The threat to Morgana herself was even more important to consider. Uther still in power already proved it more and more difficult to meet with her, let alone protect her as carefully as he’d have liked.

Even that was not at the forefront of his mind, however.

The idea that his blood nephew could be knowingly protecting a magic user filled Agravaine with conflicting emotions. His better judgement wanted this to solidify his contempt for Arthur, as it was clear proof of him following in Uther's footsteps through willful hypocritical ignorance. Though it was the manservant himself who'd cast Agravaine's thoughts in doubt. Merlin was a civilian and before that a man with an obliged loyalty to Arthur, but he at least seemed _sensible_ and quick to question or even talk back to the prince. In fact, he at times appeared to be a bit _too_ observant. A magic user with his amount of defiance condoning that behavior certainly made the situation...questionable.

Everything was questionable, at that point.

Agravaine couldn't quite shake an overwhelming unease as he passed through the castle halls. His rapid steps seemed in sync with his heartbeat.

There was but one solution.

He had to kill the boy before he posed a threat to Morgana.

It was not a matter of choice. There were too many variables in play for him to allow the manservant to live, and even the smallest chance that Merlin may mean the doom of Morgana made Agravaine's skin crawl with utmost disgust and anxiety.

Merlin could not, under any circumstances, be left to his own devices no matter what they were.

That was why he'd hurried directly back to the castle once he'd spoken to Morgana.

Just as his body turned the corner, however, he came face-to-face with yet another he's grown to harbor deep disdain for.

"A pleasure to see you again, Agravaine," Uther greeted with an ease in his voice that the other man wanted to choke right out on the spot. _Calm down,_  he told himself immediately at said thought. "I see you've returned to the castle just in time to greet Arthur. I've just received word that the knights were spotted near the outskirts of Camelot; they're well on their way back from the mission. I do anticipate the results, though with eagerness or trepidation I'm sure you can imagine I've...yet to decide."

Agravaine stopped himself and attempted to properly register the king's words.

There was an absent air of upset that he tried to mask. "I - I see," he responded carefully, swallowing before allowing the words to tumble out of his mouth. “In fact, I’d nearly forgotten about that. I’d originally come to further interrogate Merlin, to see if I can push any needed information out of him, if permitted.”

The way that Uther’s face automatically fell made Agravaine’s stomach follow in suit.

Even his shoulders fell, and the king let out a sigh. “It may have slipped my mind to inform you while you’d been gone,” and with each word, anxiety further filled agravaine. “The boy accompanied my son and my knights on the mission to retrieve and destroy the egg.”

Agravaine could no longer contain his outrage.

“ _What_ \- “

"Believe me when I tell you that I want with all of my heart to permit you to interrogate the sorcerer. Unfortunately, that is - well, it seems out of the question. My...my son's persuasion was rather difficult to argue against," Uther admitted, cutting through Agravaine’s protests with a mixture of defeat and pride. "The trial is to be dropped if the mission is successful. I cannot stress enough my worry for Arthur's life when I am certain of the boy's guilt yet...if the egg is indeed destroyed, there is little I can do to convict him."

The dark haired man shook his head in disbelief. “You...you would choose to back down _now?_ ”

“I am a man of my word, my brother,” Uther replied simply, though his voice was lined with regret.

At those words, Agravaine's unease quickly turned to a drained sickness. "I see," he responded again simply with a weak nod.

Just as he was to turn away, Uther stopped him.

"Agravaine, I fear my son's attachments to commoners is clouding his judgement," the king spoke lowly and with an odd vulnerability, reaching a hand to his brother. “He seems convinced of the sorcerer's innocence but trust that I _know_ what I saw. I implore you to talk some sense into him when you get the chance, will you? He should be returning soon and if for any reason the boy has managed to retain Arthur's misguided trust, I believe that I alone may not be enough to sway his judgement. This...combined with the uprisings around the kingdom - well, it is all very stressful, you may imagine. History seems to be repeating itself and my people grow more restless by the day."

Coming to a steady resolve, Agravaine swallowed. The hand on his shoulder burned. "I will speak with Arthur. That much, I can promise you. Though I don't think it is any good complaining about what has happened in the past, my Lord," he attempted to word himself with caution. "We can't expect the whole of the masses to side with us when the long history of our land is all so complicated. All we can do is work with the _now_ and the _later._  That, I will leave to you.”

He hadn’t even waited for Uther to respond before pushing himself through the halls.

It occurred to Agravaine as he retreated to his quarters that he had quite a few enemies within the very walls he regularly slept and that it was only a matter of time before all parties were to be fully aware of just that.

It subsequently occurred to him that even the little sleep he'd already been getting would be decreased dramatically in the coming nights for that exact reason.

* * *

Took some time for Merlin to realize just how utterly unprepared they'd been for something like hiding a dragon egg directly under the nose a kingdom so opposed to magic. Of course, it'd been much easier the first time around, but reenacting that would have required counting on Kilgharrah to _not_ burn the warlock to a crisp the first moment the dragon saw him, or at the very least not giving him a stern and booming lecture about destiny and abusing magic. Because neither was particularly enticing to deal with, exactly. Perhaps the Kilgharrah of that time wouldn't be able to tell just how entirely hopeless Merlin had evidently rendered the world.

 _Right._  The sorcerer gave a snort at the thought. _If only._

Far from worth taking that chance.

"And where's it at now?" Lancelot sat slouched over on Merlin's bed, brows furrowed in deep thought.

"Gaius has it, said he'd find a place for her," he responded, closing his eyes and crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall if his quarters, head pointed down in deep thought. "Don't trust Arthur with it. Definitely don't trust _myself_ with it. I made sure he wouldn't tell me where he'd put her. The way I am now, there's no possible way I could guarantee I'd leave her alone if I know full well where she's being kept."

It dawned on Lancelot the sort of expression on Merlin's face was that of a protective parent. It seemed a bit too personal for him to witness, and he tried himself at changing the subject. “Well, speaking of Arthur,” he started with a raised eyebrow. “Does he know about what you did? Well - he _clearly_ knows - but you said your people have been turning your back on you. People of magic, yeah? What’s that mean, exactly?”

In response, Merlin shook his head, frustration evident in his movements.

“Nothing I could tell you with confidence, that much is true,” he sighed and averted his eyes. “Gaius tells me the world will right itself regardless of how I’ve tried to alter it, because that’s how time magic _always_ works, but the world seems to be treating me like I’ve committed a crime. I’m being rejected by the only thing I could have ever called my true home, or at least the one thing part of my true identity! There’s also the fact that I’d by technicality _killed myself._  Suicide evidently isn’t a very noble thing to do in _any_ culture, regardless of what it really entails or even if it’s truly suicide.”

“Okay, slow down,” Lancelot stood in alarm. “ _Suicide?_  What’s this all about?”

Yet again, Merlin sighed. “The spell I used was...specific,” he began a bit more calmly. “I didn’t know it when I’d used it on Arthur. It must’ve been at the back of my mind, something I’d read somewhere. It is one that switches one’s souls at two different periods of time. I tried desperately to save Arthur’s life and must have used _that_ to send him back. I imagine that since _you’re_ alive, the Cailleach instead chose the life of Arthur’s past self as a sacrifice before he could enter the body of his future self. Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered regardless, because I’d sent Arthur back just as he’d been _dying_. His past soul would have died no matter what happened to it, in the end.”

“...I want quite badly to question that,” Lancelot stated bluntly. “But I’ve absolutely no idea of where to start. I really _was_ meant to die, then.”

“Yeah, sort of. Appreciate that you didn’t. I quite like being able to rely on a friendship with someone who _isn’t_ Arthur again,” Merlin shrugged helplessly before continuing. “Once I realized what I’d done, that I’d sent him back, I tried doing the same to myself. I killed myself and sent my soul back just before I died. That way, my younger soul would’ve died along with my older body. Can’t have another version of myself running around in some... _alternate future_. Don’t trust myself enough to let something like _that_ happen.”

At that, Lancelot kept quiet for a moment. He was entirely unsure of how to respond. The fact that he’d evidently originally been a _dead_ man may have turned out the least of his worries. The entire situation seemed impossibly morbid, yet he could understand why it may have appeared the only logical solution in Merlin’s eyes. Still, he had some reservations about the situation, and even more inquiries about the consequences.

“And, you’re sure that you died?”

Merlin paused, clearly not expecting that question.

“What?” he asked.

The knight donned an inquisitive yet worried expression. “When you’d...when you killed yourself,” he specified. “You’re _entirely_ sure that you were to die before you sent yourself back?”

“I cut my own throat,” Merlin stated simply, a bit _too_ casually. “I have doubts that I could have survived something like that.”

Lancelot winced in response. He was used to death and events of gore, of course. He’d killed and maimed men before. It was part of his everyday work to be well versed in both of those things. Though, imagining either of those things in regards to the people he cared about proved to be difficult even for him. Imagining it about one of his closest friends, about _Merlin,_ proved even worse.

"Well, I believe you two should have a conversation with each other," Lancelot suggested. "You and Arthur. A _real_ one, not a shouting match. You have to talk to each other like men sometime or another to get this straightened out."

The sorcerer nodded. "Right."

"And," the knight continued, a bit slower. "Perhaps attempt to have some privacy, whenever you do."

"...Right," Merlin replied again, averting his eyes sheepishly.

* * *

Something in Uther seemed to have changed.

As Arthur explained the situation to his father, he was more than glad to have his men to back him up. The laid-back attitudes and occasional quips of the others through his report - Gwaine and Leon specifically - did a touch to calm Arthur’s nerves as he thoroughly lied about the fate of the dragon egg.

Where it had actually gone, he had no idea, and quite frankly didn't care enough to have directly asked Merlin himself. Once it was quite literally out of his hands, he promptly considered the entire ordeal to be in the same respect, though it was still a secret he'd more than planned to keep. He went through the motions of describing Borden’s fate, their trek through the forest, and the eventual collapse of the tower after they’d _“attempted”_ to retrieve the egg. It hadn't taken much altering to make the story convincing, but Arthur would have liked for Lancelot to have been there to back him up instead of excusing himself once they’d entered the gates of the kingdom.

Moments passed after Arthur concluded, each man waiting for the king’s judgement.

The expression on his face was nearly unreadable, though the prince could see slight apprehension.

“My knights, you are all dismissed,” Uther spoke, raising a hand. “I wish to speak with my son alone.”

 _Here we go,_ Arthur groaned to himself.

Even Elyan seemed to shoot him a sympathetic stare as he and the others filed through the doors.

The sound of them closing was deafening in the silence as father and son made eye contact.

"I don't like it," Uther stated bluntly. "Understand that I did not _want_ for you to fail in your mission by any means and that the egg's destruction is tremendous news for the future of Camelot, but this arrangement you've pushed has put me in a rather compromising position. I cannot fathom how you see this as a wise decision."

If Arthur knew one thing, it was that he wanted more than the world to _end_ the conversation. He bowed his head and leveled his voice. "Believe me when I say that I understand your frustration, father, but Merlin has proven himself countless times to be an ally to Camelot. In times like these, we have to keep those loyal to our kingdom, not drive them away. Surely, you must know this.”

Uther inched himself closer and shouted in a burst of anger. “The closer we allow magic users into our quarters, the easier it is for them to wipe us all out!”

"If Merlin possessed any magic to speak of, why would I still be alive and well after all this time?" Arthur challenged, raising his voice to the same level as his father’s.

It crossed his mind that he technically _wasn't_ either of those things, but he put that from his thoughts for the time being, as it seemed at least to resonate with Uther in a small way. Or, at the _very_ least, he seemed to be unable to immediately argue against it. Of course, that didn’t mean that Uther was _happy_ about it, just that he was _silent_ for the time being, and Arthur nearly felt ashamed to think that either was for the moment equally as appealing. Merlin would never be a purposeful threat to him. Not in any universe, not in any circumstance that permitted Merlin to have full control of his actions. That much, Arthur was absolutely sure of, and he would defend such to his dying breath if his father dared to dispute against it.

The prince hadn’t noticed how close his father was until Uther backed away, turning his back on his son and bowing his head to the ground.

“Leave me,” Uther said simply.

Arthur couldn't get out into the hall fast enough.

Unfortunately, he had no time to relax as he realized his uncle was standing by the wall, arms folded behind his back.

It was evident from the way Agravaine was standing that he'd been waiting _specifically_ for Arthur to finish his conversation with his father, which really just made him even more exasperated. No - not exasperated - absolutely _fatigued_. In all reality, Arthur wanted more than anything to have avoided his uncle at any and all opportunities. Whatever it was that Agravaine wished to speak about, he hoped in his head that it wouldn’t take up _too_ much of his time. Time he could be spending with people he could actually put his trust in. Time he could be spending with people who likely _didn’t_ want him dead. Far preferable, if you asked him.

“I’m sure you’ve much business to take care of,” Agravaine said in a way that made it clear he hadn’t actually cared about that, a smile that Arthur identified as fake adorning his face. “I will make this brief. Your father wished for me to speak with you.”

In an automatic response, Arthur groaned and rubbed a hand on his cheek. “If this is about Merlin, let me tell you, I am _far_ past the point of wanting to hear it.”

His uncle frowned.

“The king is understandably rather distressed. I would like to trust his judgement fully,” he prevaricated with an ease that set the prince on edge. “Unfortunately, I fear he’s been put under much...strain, especially in the recent years. The tribulation with Morgana, his various experiences with magic as of late - I am sure that you can empathize, yes? This, on top of Camelot’s forces suppressing raiders from our civil enemies, I am unsurprised that Uther would conclude that any number of his allies are secretly his enemies regardless of reason or logic."

Arthur’s eyes widened in vague remembrance. “Caerleon?”

He recalled the ordeal with them, with the rulers themselves. It ended up resulting in one of the biggest mistakes of his life, looking back with a clearer head.

_Ah._

It’d been under _Agravaine’s_ influence that Arthur was strayed from his path to ruling a stable kingdom.

A certain anxiety filled his stomach as he wondered what that influence could do to a man like Uther.

"That, and I would be lying if that all was the end of Uther’s worries,” Agravaine continued, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. “That woman you’re often seen with - the _servant_ \- you cannot be under the impression that you are at all subtle. A future king, courting a common civilian? A servant, no less. Your father is rather unhappy with the possibility of that, though how he’s not figured that it’s a reality is beyond me."

Arthur resisted the urge to _literally_ shrug him off and opted for averting his eyes instead, speaking in a reserved and dejected tone. "Yes, well, my father is rather unhappy with many things regarding me at the moment. And in the case that you've forgotten, one of the men I trust most happens to be both of those."

It wasn't hard to notice how Agravaine visibly faltered.

"That, I assure you, I am fully aware of,” he responded cryptically before turning away, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Your father is, as well.”

Before Arthur could respond, or even hope to ask the meaning behind his uncle’s words, Agravaine was already halfway down the corridor.

He knew well that what his father wanted for him was nothing like the direction he’d been going, but he wondered with dread just _how_ far off course he was.

Yet, by the time he began making his way to Gaius, Arthur felt that he was far more willing to collapse in a heap of exhaustion instead of think anymore about what his father wanted for him.

* * *

A soft breeze blew against Guinevere's skin as she stared out the open sill.

It had been a few days since she’d last spoken with Arthur. Though she’d wanted to have seen him off when him and the others departed, she couldn’t bring herself to approach him. There’d been a strange tension in the air that she couldn’t quite describe, one that didn’t stop with just him. She’d felt it with Lancelot, as well. Something felt _off,_ an underlying sense of wrongness that Gwen could feel in her bones and blanketing the entire kingdom. Yet no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much thought she put into figuring it out, she just couldn’t pinpoint the source.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump.

When she turned around and saw who it was, she let out a huff of relief and familiarity. "Elyan. I have to say, I wasn't expecting you here."

"Weren't you?" he responded with a grin, one reserved for only her. "Figured I'd drop in - give you some information on what's going on - because I imagine Arthur hasn't."

Immediately, her smile disappeared and she rolled her eyes. "So you've noticed."

"Hard not to've."

Letting out a sigh, Gwen's shoulders sank low. "Arthur's been...he's pulled back lately, I think."

Her brother nodded in understanding.

"Yeah. Noticed he didn't even see you off when we left. I thought that was strange, but I have to admit, the king's seemed to have gotten a bit more strict on his relationships. If I blame anyone for Arthur's distance lately, Uther's my first bet," Elyan set down his equipment on the ground and paused, then began shaking his head. "You know he accused Merlin of sorcery? _Merlin_. Isn't the first time, sure, but after all these years? The fact he hasn't cursed Arthur yet is proof enough of his innocence, in my book."

Her attention was quickly taken off the initial issue and her head jerked toward him in alarm. "Merlin was accused of sorcery? When? And why on _Earth_ \- ?"

As he formulated a reply, she took a quick look at his carefully placed armor and sword, analyzing the chain links and chipped metal. It wasn't the first time she'd wished to herself that she'd be given an opportunity to improve that which the knights protecting her home used on a daily basis; to be perfectly fair, the work of her late father was nothing short of masterful, but she knew better than anyone else the upkeep needed for such metalwork was not being performed properly. Her knowledge as a blacksmith's daughter was often both a blessing and a curse.

She understood better than anyone that Uther would never allow her to. Not after putting her father to death.

She shook her head. No time to be worrying about such things.

"Your guess is as good as mine, I'd say. The king was...vague, I think the right word would be. Said he saw Merlin perform magic but didn't tell much other than that, except that the mission being a success meaning he'd drop the trial," he averted his eyes and gave a sigh. "Didn't think to ask Merlin or Arthur about any more details than that when we were out looking for the egg."

Gwen promptly raised an eyebrow at him.

He gave a relenting huff.

Somehow, despite them not having much opportunity to spend time together, Gwen still managed to be the only one able to see through his passivity.

"Yeah, alright, I _did_ think to. But you should've seen them, Guinevere. I can't begin to explain what the tension between them was like, let alone figure out the reason behind it. I thought it was just because of the trial, but..."

She frowned in response. "It wasn't?"

After letting out a short laugh, he shook his head. "Not that I'm aware. I might not've even noticed if I didn’t see that Lancelot noticed.”

He didn't miss her head perking up when he said the knight's name, but he refrained from commenting on it. Before he had the chance to, however, Gwen began her response with a far-away look.

“I worry about Uther. I have worried about him for quite some time, but it’s gotten worse in the recent years. No - not about _him,_ exactly - but his rule,” she leaned her side against the wall, hugging her arms. "Social tensions are high. There’s unrest _everywhere,_ you know? You should hear the men on the pave and in the taverns, all talk of class revolts throughout the Five Kingdoms. Tír-Mòr seems to have fallen the same way as Southron, from what I’ve heard about the feuds surrounding the heir. They’re both in near _anarchy_ , now, and I still hear those who say it’s worse _here_. They compare Uther’s recent actions to how Sarrum treats his people over in Amata, and I can’t even bring myself to blame them, Elyan!”

To both stop her and console her, he put a hand on her shoulder.

Her voice died down, as did her hysteria, and Elyan rubbed his neck. “I’ll...I’ll be honest, I hadn’t heard about all that.”

Gwen let out a noise that sounded either like a laugh or a scoff, though he wasn’t sure what difference it would have made. “I likely shouldn't be telling this all to a knight. Could be thought of as treasonous if it reaches the wrong ears."

"Well, I could be tried for treason myself for saying this, but I believe my loyalties to family are my first priority,” he paused and allowed a small smile to work its way across his face. “And if you asked Leon, I'd imagine he'd agree."

Taken aback, Gwen jerked her head up.

"Leon?"

At her confusion, Elyan's eyes softened. "Yeah. He's missed you, you know? We’ve been speaking more lately. I think he wants you to know that you can confide in him if you wish; I'd definitely recommend it, really. He's surprisingly wise. And don't forget that he sees you as nothing less than a sister, alright?"

Her heart warmed at that.

In truth, she’d missed Leon, as well. The thought that her childhood friend could have felt even the slightest bit empty without her presence in the same way was touching and, at least temporarily, allowed her to push aside the worries of the world.

“If you’ll pardon me,” Elyan turned to grab his belongings. “Got an audience with the pub.”

Gwen smiled and crossed her arms. “Leaving already?”

Ignoring her quip, or perhaps in response to it, he turned to pull her into an embrace, hitting her with a wave of surprise. Yes, her and Elyan had been close. _Very_ close, in fact. Yet, she knew Elyan wasn’t too often one to instigate affection unless in certain situations. Though she supposed this, them having not seen each other for a time and being alone, was one such situation. It always felt nice to connect with each other, no matter how rare it was that they’d have any chance to.

"Try not to pull away, too, now. I've missed you."

It only occurred to her later, long after her brother had left, that her concerns over Arthur were temporarily entirely forgotten.

* * *

"From your expression, I imagine you've spoken with your father."

It was Gaius’s voice which stopped Arthur just as he was entering through the doorway.

He wondered just how weary he must have appeared for the man to have noticed right away. Though, to be entirely truthful, Arthur would have insisted that it was his interactions with his uncle that tired him out far more than those with his father. Paranoia regarding Agravaine had only continued to plague his mind and, unfortunately, they seemed not to be getting any easier to handle. Whether his father approved of his actions and decisions or not, however, seemed to be growing less and less important to him. He figured that came from his time having dealt with Uther’s passing and decidedly pushed the thought from his mind.

The prince closed the creaking door and kept himself from rolling his eyes at the scenes replaying in his head. “He’s kept his word. That’s what matters,” he spoke simply, not wanting to go into it any further than he needed to.

“Good news, at the least. On a lighter note,” the older man began, thankfully changing the subject. “Have you learned anything helpful from that book you _borrowed_ from Merlin’s quarters?”

If Arthur could have given Gaius credit on anything concerning social skills, it was his ability to read the tone of a situation and react accordingly. _If only Merlin took that on while working under the man_ , he found himself thinking, and thought back instead to the book itself than to anything else concerning the sorcerer. He’d skimmed through it briefly, yes, but he’d been rather preoccupied since obtaining it and was unable to do much more. He’d also noticed the emphasis put on the word _borrowed_ , and promptly ignored it. If Merlin asked for it, he’d return it. Not like he had much other insight into the world of magic that was more or less unbiased and at least somewhat objective.

He shrugged and looked to the side.

“Haven't had time for any light reading," though he certainly wished he did. “Concerned the Old Religion more than anything and I can’t say I know too terribly about that. And, well, magic - that exists everywhere in the world - but the practice of it? The creation of structure surrounding it all? That stems from the Old Gods and Goddesses, that much I know. But do you really believe in all that?"

"Many who use magic do. Your sister was particularly religious."

Arthur snorted in response, rolling his eyes. "Well, that's a word. I'd say _fanatical_ fits just a bit better."

Predictably, Gaius cocked his head to the side, words and tone considerably more leveled. "Hard blaming one of the Nine for her devotion."

_One of the Nine._

Arthur couldn’t have been _less_ interested in involving himself in that aspect of his sister’s life.

He shook his head and furrowed his brows in confusion. “No, but _you_ ,” he specified, pointing to the older man. “Those beliefs, what do you make of them?”

"There are many theories, as I’m sure you’ve gathered,” Gaius gave a light shrug and began rearranging the bottles on his shelves, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the prince. Arthur imagined it was likely on purpose. “Some say the gods are part of this Earth, right beneath our feet. Others believe they live in the heavens, some plane above us we can’t even fathom, or the air around us. Still others claim they existed in mortal form many centuries ago; that the Triple Goddess herself sleeps among this Earth - or, at least, that she had before. People of Albion rarely follow the Old Religion, so finding a consistent belief is nigh impossible in this day and age."

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Arthur pushed, curiosity now burning intensely. “What do you follow?”

Gaius’s hands faltered, glass clinking together.

Just before the man could respond, a door swung open, and Arthur looked up in alarm.

His surprised turned to a mix of confusion and a strange frustration once he gathered who it was. Well - _both_ of who. Merlin, he was expecting, and the warlock’s presence didn’t disappoint. It was technically the one place in Camelot that could be considered his home, after all, and where else would he have gone off to after their return from the mission? _Perhaps to hide the egg,_ he reasoned in his head, but the sorcerer likely already had plenty of time to have taken care of that. On top of it all, Gaius was one of the only people who knew full well their situation and could give decent advice, all things considered.

Lancelot, however, he was _not_ expecting.

“This is where you’d gone off to, then?” Arthur asked rhetorically, not even trying to hide the vague sense of enmity in his voice. He wasn’t sure what he was actually mad at or why, but he at least knew that he was mad.

“Sorry for leaving you to the king,” the knight responded, evidently choosing the reason _for_ Arthur. Right. _That_ was why he was upset. He latched onto that idea. “Couldn’t risk having to go to sleep without getting some sort of explanation for what exactly’s going on. I was a bit confused after all that. Still am, really.”

It seemed Merlin was more than ready to move on from the conversation, for whatever reason, and he directed his attention to Arthur.

"Had to talk to you," he stated flatly. “Agravaine is a traitor.”

A moment of silence passed.

"Right," Merlin nodded slowly, expression unchanging. "Yes, we know that."

To the side, Lancelot scratched the back of his neck and coughed, "News to me."

While Merlin shot his friend an apologetic look, Arthur's gaze remained fixated on the wall, clearly deep in thought. It was often easy to forget all that Lancelot _wasn't_ aware of.

The prince ran a hand through his hair. "I'd been so blind, Merlin. Was it not obvious? I'm so...obsessed with surrounding myself with trustworthy people that I put my absolute devotion into those clearly undeserving of it."

Where this borderline humbleness came from, Merlin had zero idea.

Was that why he’d come? Why he wanted to talk to Merlin? Ever since his death, Arthur seemed far too ready to admit to his faults, especially those in the actions he'd made in the past.

Perhaps it wasn’t humbleness, having thought about it for a moment. Perhaps it was simple self-loathing.

Merlin could relate.

"He's family," Merlin said simply, swallowing. He wasn't sure why he'd wanted to comfort the prince after he'd stated something as accurate as that self-observation. "Perhaps not the closest, but it is difficult to blame you for wanting to trust your own blood."

In response, Arthur gave an incredulous look, eyebrows shooting up to the heavens. "Is it? In - in case you haven't noticed, blood or no blood, my family hasn't had quite the best history with trustworthiness. At what point am I finally meant to learn from that? Just how many times must I be betrayed by the people closest to me before I start looking into blatantly suspicious behavior, exactly? Tensions between Camelot and the other kingdoms are higher than ever - what exactly is it that we should expect to happen? That it'll get any _better_ under my father's rule? While he’s got Agravaine as his advisor, especially!”

To be fair, in retrospect, it began sounding more like his turmoil had more to do with his father than his uncle, but the idea of dwelling on the implications of that made Arthur’s stomach churn in a disgust solely directed at himself.

With a blink and a shrug, Merlin’s expression hardened and he narrowed his eyes. “So, I kill Agravaine. Problem solved.”

There he went again.

It wasn’t, ‘ _we_ kill Agravaine,’ it was a rather definite, ‘ _I_ kill Agravaine.’

“Oh, let’s just kill _all_ of our problems, while we’re at it,” the prince hissed with far less disdain than he’d intended to get across in his tone of voice. It wasn’t as if he was one to talk, and the idea that Merlin would have murdered his uncle without question or issue in response to Arthur’s vocalized worries made him feel both annoyed and something else that was, for the moment, unidentifiable, and he went with conveying the former. Annoyance was much easier to work with.

In his opinion, at least.

“Arthur, you know perfectly well what I mean,” Merlin huffed in irritation. “The longer we stay here and change things, the less we’ll be able to predict. And I, for one, wouldn’t want Agravaine to be anywhere _near_ the list of unpredictable things. Would you?”

Though the former king was more than ready to give a quick retort, the question stopped him.

His glare softened and nearly disappeared altogether. “No, I suppose not,” he answered.

“Right,” Lancelot quickly slipped past Arthur, giving a short wave to Merlin and a pat on the shoulder to the prince. “I’ll be seeing myself out for the night, then.”

The two only acknowledged him with a nod, not even taking their eyes off of each other.

Above all else, Arthur knew within himself that Merlin was right. He hated it, but it was true. Everything from that point on would become increasingly difficult to predict the more they altered events, not that it was entirely avoidable by that point. Still, he couldn't quite say that he had any idea of what exactly they would be getting into or what they would encounter as a result of their combined actions. He wouldn’t have said that he was against the idea of Agravaine dying all over again, but there remained something inherently wrong about it. And on top of that, the traitor would likely only grow more insidious as the days passed of him being seemingly undetected.

That uncertainty was quite possibly what frightened him the most.

Merlin was the first to break eye contact after what felt like an eternity. It took Arthur a moment to realize that Gaius wasn’t in the room with them anymore, either, and he wondered how that happened without him noticing.

Before he could wonder for too long, though, the sorcerer began speaking.

“We have to…” Merlin trailed off, as if he’d wanted to say something and stopped himself from doing so. “We need to make a plan of what to do next,” he finally decided on.

* * *

Though the bleakness of where Morgana had been hiding out was a given every time Agravaine stepped foot inside, it truly showed when she was particularly unhappy with him.

And, in this case, it was quite the _understatement_ to claim that she was merely unhappy.

She eventually let go of his throat, but only once he’d nearly passed out.

He was fairly sure there were marks under his chin where she clawed her nails into his skin.

"My dear brother, protecting someone of magic?" she scoffed and averted her eyes, gaze filled with intensity. Thankfully, she’d decided to keep her distance and leaned a hand on the far wall. "That's either laughable or infuriating. Both, even. You're certain you hadn't misheard?"

Before she even finished asking the question, he'd already started shaking his head. Agravaine readily anticipated her utter disbelief long before confronting her for the reason that he'd honestly still been feeling it as well. Though Arthur was never quite as forceful nor vocal about his opposition to magic as Uther, it came out clear in the way he spoke of it when given the chance and thus made the idea of him knowingly working alongside one of magic nigh unfathomable.

Agravaine _wanted_ to have heard the conversation incorrectly, but the more he replayed it in his mind, the less he could justify the words as meaning anything else.

"I can assure you that I've made no mistake in simply relaying to you what I heard, my Lady," he responded, only telling the partial truth in retrospect. "I'd planned to take care of him immediately so as not to worry you with irrelevant forces, but as I'd already explained I was unfortunately unable to seize an opportunity."

Her lips pursed in consideration.

It was at that point before that she’d completely lost her temper at him, so he considered it a drastic improvement.

A few moments passed as she seemed to wrack her brain for a possible solution. Morgana brought a hand to her mouth and bit her nail, letting out an audible breath.

"Magic or no magic, Merlin may be of use to us regardless," she suddenly stated, head perking up with what appeared to be newfound inspiration. There was a peculiar spark in her eyes as she continued. "We're both more than aware that Arthur is rather fond of the boy. It shouldn't prove difficult to use that to our advantage. Our best outcome is Merlin has no magic after all and we can harm Arthur through him, yes? Worst outcome - well - in that case, we can eliminate one threat and damage another all in one go. It carries more risk yet more reward."

Agravaine resisted letting out a sigh of relief. “Then, you understand the threat he could pose.”

"Well, _you_ will understand that you haven't _convinced_ me,” she spoke at the end of a biting laugh, clearly a command more than a request, “but you've certainly piqued my curiosity."

That was far better than nothing, he decided.

“In that case, we must act quickly,” he insisted, wishing to the Gods that she would see where his distress was coming from. “If the boy is allowed to live much longer, there is no telling what he could do or what he could do to hinder our plans.”

With a huff, she turned to him and gave a smile that seemed a gorgeous sort of wicked.

"Now, let's not be brash. We need him in our grasp before we decide exactly what to do with him."


End file.
